I’m a hugger, he says and leans in. I shudder, I can smell his breath. It’s not the freshest. I can smell his aftershave. It smells cheap. I can feel his stubble across my cheek. It hurts. I can feel his stomach flab. It is soft and almost engulfs me. He disgusts me. I do not know him. Why is he touching me like this?

I am not much for physical contact. But even if I were, I would not want to hug damn strangers. People I just met. Why the hell do some people think announcing “I am  a hugger” gives them the right to touch me in a way that we usually only touch close friends, partners and family. I am not a hugger. I do not hug strangers. I do not want you to hug me. Step the fuck back and get your clammy hands off of me. Who the hell gave you the right to lay your hands on me?

I get it. I see how these hugger types think they are jovial, warm, approachable, and quirky, fun, with it people. I am sure they believe proclaiming “I am a hugger” makes them somehow with it, cool, hipsterish, yogaish, trendyish, leftist, Burneriersih or something.

It does not. It is a cheap party trick. Without the party and booze. Whatever it is, I am not buying it. They think it makes them relatable. You know what, it does not. All it says is they are so needy and so uninteresting, they have so few words of wisdom in their vocabulary that they need to practically assault people to get to them. They are incapable of saying something worthwhile, instead they come too close, they leave all decorum behind, and they violate all sense of personal space and without remorse they breach my personal freedom.

Next time someone leans in with the “I am a hugger” I am gonna lean right back, with my strong runners leg up high and ready, and proudly proclaim, “I am a kicker”. Let’s see who wins that one.