Personal Space!

I get that in some countries, there’s no such thing as personal space.

Either because:

  • a) people, for some reason I cannot fathom, enjoy touching each other all the time or because
  • b)there are just too many people crammed together.

Now because I was born and raised in the U.S., I neither enjoy touching random people nor having random people touch me.

When I’m standing in line, I expect at least two, if not three feet, of perimeter space.

If I can feel your breath on any part of my body, you’re standing too fucking close.

And when I try to casually move away from you a step, it is not an indication for you to also move a step closer to me. When I sigh loudly and step forward again, in no way, shape or form is it an invitation for you to do the same.

When I have tried to delicately deliver the hint to you that I am not enjoying your proximity and you still don’t fucking get it, you shouldn’t be shocked when I finally lose my whole mind and yell, “Personal Space!!!” like a fucking banshee at the top of my lungs.

The ONLY exception to this rule is if there’s a really hot guy that I wouldn’t mind “accidentally” rubbing up against.

Contrary to popular belief, I do not enjoy having my amygdala activated.

That is all.

How do you feel about people encroaching upon your personal space? Leave a comment below!

Like what you read? Give Elena Cobo a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.