Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Stand back.

I think I'm going to print out some pretty business-card-sized notes that I can hand to people who seem to have no sense of personal space. Close talkers. Encroachers.

Today, I stood in line at the post office, an annual rite of Christmas penitence. As I stood there, browsing the "Congratulations on your new baby boy" cards, I noticed that someone had joined the line behind me. At first, this person respected the invisible bubble that surrounds me AT ALL TIMES.

But then, I noticed that the encroacher was gradually moving to my left, and forward, all while blithely ignoring me and tapping away on her phone.

Well. I was not born yesterday (I was born 18,442 days ago, in fact*), so I knew that this was a nasty attempt to butt in in front of me.

And that is not on. I moved my girth leftwards until the offending woman had no choice but to move back behind me.

But she was not to be outdone. She did this.

I kid you not; I felt the hairs on the back of my neck blowing in the breeze of her exhalations! Can you imagine? And this was not someone from some culture that was more accustomed to small body-space than I am; she was as WASP as I am!

If I had not been so close to the front of the line, I would have abandoned my quest. But I was stalwart, and determined. I concentrated on the greeting cards as if they were my Lamaze focus points.

Finally, I reached the counter and breathed a heavy sigh of relief as my bubble re-expanded to fill the appropriate amount of space.

Gawd, I hate crowds. Hate 'em. I think I'm going to mount a baby-poop cannon on my shoulder and direct it at anyone who invades my bubble. Sounds like a plan.

*Yes, there's an app for that.

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