Bubble Girl

Here's my little tidbit for the day -

It's been mentioned recently that I have personal space issues. I guess I never realized that I may have a little bit more of an issue with others invading my "bubble" than most of my fellow Americans, but it's been made clear that I do. Let me make my personal space issues clear and irrefutable right here, right now:

[I am pointedly referencing this to the creepy grad students at work who lean over my desk, one or two specific coworkers from the past and present, disgusting drunk men at bars, the creepy ice patrol guy who totally ended my wonderful re-enactment of my childhood ice skating adventures yesterday, and every shmuck who's ever tried to grab my ass/boob/arm/leg while waitressing... to name a few.]

You are not allowed in my bubble without an explicit invitation. That's it. That's the rule, period. There are no exceptions to this rule. You've either been invited in or you haven't. It's like a vampire entering a mortal's house. If it is unclear as to whether or not you've been invited - maybe it's murky, maybe you're reading signals that you don't recognize, whatever - then you have not been invited in. End of story.

I also have the right to rescind said invitation whenever and however I feel like it. I'm sorry if this seems cruel and unusual to you, but it's just the way it is. You'll have to find someone else to grope if you find my rule so grievously offensive.

So there it is. I hope this helps all of you navigate the waters of your relationship with me (whether real or imaginary) with safety and enjoyment.