Quirks. They kinda' take on a life of their own, don't they?
I don't like to be touched.
I'm not a hugger.
Don't stroke my arm as you are talking to me.
In fact, could you move about 1 foot away?
I know, I know. I can hear you...
"How is it that you don't like to be touched? You have five kids. You OBVIOUSLY like to be touched."
Really? That's none of your business and, frankly, it's rude.
But, let's unpack this box just a little.
I have 5 kids. They like to come and lay their head on my shoulder while I am sitting down. They like to get into my bed at night. They like to sit rightbesidemewhileIwatchtv. They hang over the back of my chair while I am on the computer. They follow me around the kitchen, always *right there* when I turn around. They pull on my arm in the grocery store. I love my kids and they need to touch me.
Believe me, the last thing I want to have happen, is to be in a room of adults and have them start touching me. AAAAHHHHH!
It only gets worse if you are pregnant. Why is it that people feel they have a right to fondle a pregnant woman's belly? WHY? Would it be cute for them to come and pinch my fat? The belly is almost as big now. Want me to pull my shirt up and flash my stretch marks?
This used to TICK ME OFF! Well, after all, I was pregnant and hormonal. I was being molested at MOPs one day and I kindly asked the woman to stop touching me. She laughed and did it all the more. Ob-nox-ious. She ended up getting her hand slapped like a naughty child. No one ever tried to touch my belly again. I'm just sayin'.
So, Here's the deal: Don't touch me.
By the way, I read the book. I loved it. If lewdity (Is that even a word?) and crass humor make you squirm, don't read it. If you want to read about how someone deals with a crippling phobia and triumphs, and peppers his story with signature raunchy humor, go for it. Just make sure you get some latex gloves and do not, I repeat, DO NOT read it in the bathroom.