Please Excuse Your Flesh

Twerk

I have a problem.

And the problem is people.

It really shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone. Especially since I’ve expressed several times how I am having a hard time living with one person, (a cat and a dog). It’s also not a secret that the subway provides me with the bulk of my writing material. There is one thing, (okay I’m lying, there are tons of things), that has really been bothering me about people on the subway. Why must they touch me?

I get it. We’re in an enclosed space. I might accidentally tap you with my bag. And you might brush past me to get of the train. There’s also a slight chance you bump into me when the train comes to a screeching halt. Those are all acceptable circumstance. Annoying, but acceptable. What is NOT acceptable is when I am wearing a sleeveless shirt and so is the person next to me AND THEY TOUCH MY ARM! DON’T DO THAT! It’s so gross. It’s bad enough I have to breathe other people’s air for 40 minutes and even worse I have crotches in my face. But please…PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME! I have no idea what types of diseases, serums and bad juju people have emitting from their pores and I definitely don’t want it to seep through mine. Same goes for leg touching when seated. If my thighs are big and so are the ones attached to the person sitting next to me. They can’t sit there. They need to find a seat next to a child or a skinny person because my soon to be Beyonce-like thighs were there first!

Of course this is one of the drawbacks of living in a densely populated area. But I don’t care. I don’t want anyone’s body parts touching me on public transportation unless their name is Trey Songz, Idris Elba or Lance Gross.

The end 🙂

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