Mr Berlusconi then turned to her and said: “Don’t shake hands like that, it’s too strong.”
She said: “Was it too strong?”
Mr Berlusconi continued: “Otherwise men will think she is going to beat me up, no one will marry you. Are you already married? You see? Be careful.”
Mr Berlusconi replied: “No, a little less, whoever is going to marry you?” He added: “I’m joking, you have to joke once in a while.
If you’re not familiar with Silvio Berlusconi, he was basically Trump before Trump became Trump. He’s a billionaire who served as prime minister of Italy for a few terms but was always getting caught in sex scandals and saying stuff that didn’t sit well with women. For example, he described Emmanuel Macron’s wife as “his good-looking mum” because she’s 24 years older than her husband. He has called himself “the best political leader in Europe and in the world.” About turning to politics, he said, “I don’t need to go into office for the power. I have houses all over the world, stupendous boats… beautiful airplanes, a beautiful wife, a beautiful family… I am making a sacrifice.” And let me tell you–any man who describes his boats as “stupendous” gets my vote.
Which is why I’m not going to trash him for chiding this woman for her firm handshake. Have you ever shaken hands with a woman who tried to express her frustration with gender inequality through the handshake? It’s brutal, painful, and terrifying. The type who leans forward, grabs your hand like she’s trying to save you from falling off a bridge, and says, “MY NAME IS LINDA.” No smile, no warmth; her goal is not to make friends or “find a husband.” Linda, by God, WILL BE REMEMBERED. And as you walk away, your hand now skin glove full of broken bone shards, you think, man… Linda is going to make a lot of money in business.
To be honest, I disagree with Berlusconi on the marriage part though. While I don’t particularly enjoy having my hand pulverized in the bear paws of an angry woman, I WOULD like to marry such a lady. I need someone to protect me against all these home invaders who seem to have targeted me as an easy mark! I need to know that if I wake up in the middle of the night, and there’s a strange man in our home, I can roll over and the bed will already be empty because she’s silently popping shells into “Bertha,” her sawed-off shotgun. And I’ll gently fall back asleep thinking, that’s my girl.
And if she’s willing to rid the house of pests, I’ll snap on some rubber gloves, clean the brains off the wall, and bring her breakfast in bed. THAT’S the kind of marriage I want.