"That Girl" is the Personal Space Police!

This is going to sound harsh. It's probably going to make me sound like a very cold, very withdrawn, misanthropic kind of woman. But so be it. I can't take anymore. I must speak up on behalf of my fellow no-touchniks. I, That Girl International, do solemnly swear that I do not like, enjoy or seek out physical contact with people I don't know and/or don't like. I do not like touching bodies with strangers on the tube. I really don't enjoy it when someone I don't know touches my arm, back, shoulder or worse at a bar, without even knowing my name. And don't even get me started on the Hug From the Unknown Entity.

I'm not a cold-blooded person. I'm affectionate with my family and friends. I love my Donald's bearhugs, holding hands with the little kids I babysit, and the comfort of embraces etc. from family. I am often the initiator of said physical contact in these friendly and familiar circles. What I don't appreciate and actually even dread is the imposition of forced physical encounter with a stranger. I know. I sound like an overreacting weirdo. But hear me out.

Some of my discomfort here comes from, admittedly, a gendered perspective. Unless you are under the age of 5 or are helping me to my feet after I've fallen down the subway stairs, if you are male, and I don't know you, please don't (and I can't emphasize this enough), don't touch me. Understandably, there will be days when the bus is so crowded that our personal space bubbles will mingle. But I'm doing my best to keep myself to myself, and would appreciate it if you did the same. Let's touch shoulders; let's not be pressed so close together that the nuns in a Catholic School down the block are panicking. These situations of commuter chaos, while still unpleasant for me, do come with the territory of living in a large city. So I deal. What I do not understand is the profusion of men who think it ok to touch a woman they have not even been introduced to. At a pub for example, we can chat without you grabbing my arm or worse, my knee. And actually that's about the only chance you have to say more than a sentence to me. While I can appreciate that my personal space bubble is much larger than other women's, please do me a favor and take your kindergarten lesson of "hands to yourself" to heart.

And women, I don't like it when you touch me either. As a waitress, I don't ever touch my customers, and I like it that way, because I know how uncomfortable I feel as a restaurant patron when my server's hand settles on my shoulder. It's nothing personal. I just don't like it, and I don't think I'm entirely alone here. Furthermore, unless were related or very close friends, I don't want to hug you. Again, please don't be offended. I do not want a shared pressing-of-the-entire-front-body experience with the majority of the people on this planet. A hug is a moment of intimacy, and to me, is something that I only enjoy with my intimate circle. It won't comfort or cheer me up, no matter how good your unfamiliar intentions may be. If I'm meeting you for the first time, assuming you're not a future mother-in-law etc., I'd much much much prefer to shake your hand.

I'm a person who agrees with Johnny Castle: This is my dance space, and this is yours. You don't come into mine, and I don't come into yours. This caveat also applies to armrest hogs whose elbows drift into my midriff, close-talkers who emphasis their points with saliva to my chin, and the handsy patrons at every pub in this country and others. We'll sit next to each, we'll have a great chat, I'll enjoy myself, and I hope you will too. And I won't touch you, at least until we've spent more than a few minutes breathing the same oxygen. Please do me the honor of reciprocating my hands-off policy. We can shake on it... but that's it!