Stephe

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Don’t touch me.

Seriously. Don’t. I don’t like being touched. Creeps me out. It has nothing to do with germs or phobias or anything like that. Chances are, I just don’t like you. Well, not you personally, but the things you do by existing. You might ‘snurf’ when you breathe, or your jaw clicks when you speak, or you’re always smacking gum. I can’t stand those things and I don’t want you standing over my damn shoulder doing them.

I’m not sure when, but somewhere along the line I just quit liking you people. Too much time wasted with folks who smelled funny or had bad taste or who were just plain weird. Respect my personal space and stay a good 5 to 10 feet away from me at all times. Don’t be offended if I don’t shake your hand, I’m not a fan of handshaking. It’s forced familiarity. Until I know you better, don’t assume you have a right to touch me and don’t ever let me hear you drop my name, Reader, into the middle of a sentence. Sounds like a salesman and I despise those guys.

And one more thing, don’t ever try and do the fist bump, I really hate that. Stupid macho posturing. I’ve seen too many middle aged guys trying to butch up their golf game by doing the ‘bump’ after sinking a putt. You hold out a fist to me and I’ll punch you right in the eye. Swear to God.

Now, do we have an understanding? Good. Because I’m really a people person at heart and I’d hate for any of the above to get in the way of us getting to know each other better.

 

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