An Open Letter to the People Who Insist on Touching Me All the Time
A few days ago a woman was telling me a fantastically unfunny story that seemed to involve her, a bag of potatoes, and a cocker spaniel. I say “seemed to” because I was barely listening to her dumb ass.
And as this person was nearing the climax of her oh-so-witty tale, she leaned way forward, bucked her teeth out like Man o’ War, put her right hand on my forearm, and let loose with a high piercing laugh that probably affected the migration habits of local birds.
Good god!
But as irritating as everything else happened to be, it was the touching that bothered me the most… Why do people insist on doing that? Why do they feel the need to force their foreign, questionable flesh against mine? It gives me the goddamn heebie-jeebies.
Oh, I’m no germaphobe; that’s not really the root of my objection to all this talk-touching. But since we’re on the subject, how do I know where your hand’s been? How am I to be sure you haven’t been booger-harvesting, or crack-scratching, or crotch-tweaking? Heck, I saw a movie once where a woman inserted her entire right arm… well, that’s probably a subject for another day.
No, what bothers me most about all this constant touching, is the inappropriately intimate nature of it.
I mean, I don’t really even know you. You sit in the third cubicle down from me, eating hoagies, talking about medical procedures, and chewing Clove brand gum all day. And I’m sorry, but that’s not enough for the two us to start rubbing skin. Sure, you have an unusually large allotment of the stuff, but that doesn’t mean I want it on me.
It’s not just you, though. It’s also men who expect me to hold their hand for a few seconds when we meet. They call it a “shake,” but it’s hand-holding at its essence – and just as gay as a shoe with bells on it.
“Glad to meet you… please put your hand into mine.”
Also the back-slappers, the huggers, the one-cheek kissers, the two-cheek kissers, the one hand on the shoulder gang… What’s the story with you people? Just leave me alone! Stop touching me!!
And don’t even get me started on the fist bumpers. That one really bothers me. It seems to be a hip and jaunty way of fulfilling the bizarre need for dermis rubbing, made to seem manly and cool and sporty.
“Hooray! Our team just scored a touchdown! Will you please now tap my knuckles with yours?” WTF?
Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not anti-social or a misanthrope, or anything like that. I just don’t feel a need to go around touching people like a blind man at a class reunion. It’s creepy, and unnecessary.
Here’s a novel idea: Just keep your oily, blotchy, poop-spangled flesh over there, and I’ll keep mine over here. The fact that it even needs to be said troubles me greatly…
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Sheesh (shaking my head)
I hate those people. A friend of mine had to fire a woman once because she was “practicing voodoo and touching people”. We never did find out what that really meant.
“poop-spangled flesh” = me not wanting lunch so much anymore.
Thanks!
There are benefits to be had from a nice hug with a person of the opposite sex. Just sayin’…
I have serious issues with being touched by people I don’t know. I DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY’VE BEEN, OMG.
CAdude ya two come to mind right off…
I have been accused of being a “boobie-presser-upper” when I hug but I’m innocent. I do NOT press my chest into people when I hug them. They stick out. How in the hell am I supposed to hug someone without my boobies touching them? It is possible?
Mr.Man is not a touchy feely person and can’t stand to be touched. Maybe it’s a Dunbar thing?
I used to work with a woman that liked to touch your arm while she talked to you. But she was smoking hot so that was OK. Had she been a human flesh-farm it would have been a different story. Also I had a friend that introduced me to his buddy at a bar one night and the guy shook my hand and then pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. The hell is that?
Also my buddies ex-girlfriend would talk to me and her nipples would get hard…man, that was tough. But, that’s way off topic.
I’m 48 years old and still a fist bump virgin. I am planning on staying that way.
Don’t touch! MY space, keep out of it. Do not corner me with your touchy-kissy kindness and friendliness, keep your hands and whatever body parts to yourself. Thank you.
I can’t even deal with eye contact.
I am not a big fan of shaking hands with men. I know for certain that they have had their wieners in their hand sometime in the last several hours and I have no way of knowing which men are hand washers or where their wieners have been.
I can always tell when we make our “numbers” for the month/quarter. The VP comes out of his office and gives me a huge crushing bear hug. This does not make me happy.
Salutes are the thing. Keep your booger mining equipment to yourself.
Fist bumps are only acceptable between hockey players and only during games. Other than that, knock it off.
Gah! Don’t get me started! It is even worse in the gay community. Here I am a normal happy lesbian, but for some reason, all the flamboyant gay men are notorious huggers. It’s like, hey, we met ONCE before, this does not a hugging friendship make! But all the pretty bois are “Heeeyyyyy OMG HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN (10 min) LET ME HUG ALL OVER YOU!!!!!!””””
It isn’t that they are closet straight, they just wanna touch, ALL THE FUCKING TIME.
Last time we went bar hopping they all wanted to hold hands and skip from bar to bar. The all the girls looked at them like they just grew tentacles out of their heads. Except the two straight girls in our party, they held hands and skipped to mah lou with the boys….
Weirdos.