If you don’t know this guy, you are this guy. I dont mind my personal space being invaded ( briefly very briefly, but some guys seen to move in like a cat looking for a warm lap nap. (Sounds like something that goes on in the back room of a strip club).

Guys have a code. We can hug on greeting and leaving, but only outside shoulder to shoulder, limited body contact. Then step back (eighteen inches typical in America, who measures these things). I get creeped out in a crowd. My chest gets tight and I have trouble breathing. ..so please. ..give me space. Then I can better pretend to care about pictures of your grandson’s football game, your daughter’s cheer squad, or blurry selfie of you, your wife and your beer. (Wait, ain’t that why we have Facebook).

Okay, I am just kidding. Please bring me your fuzzy images, Uncle Meanswell. Just one word: tic-tack!