I have this lovely pair of pink fuzzy gloves. They keep my fingers warm and remind me of my inner child all at the same time, and now because of my creepy co-worker I can no longer wear them. Apparently, if you wear something fuzzy it's like an invitation for other people to touch you.
Like "Hi, my name is Tamy, do you see my ugly fuzzy gloves? Don't they look so very soft? Please, touch them, and in the process you will get to touch me! Because THAT is why I really wear them, so strangers will touch me. It's true, my daddy didn't hug me enough as a kid, how did you know?"
Ugh, and the worst part of it wasn't that he touched me, but the way he did it. He just reach out his skinny white finger and started stroking my gloved hand slowly for what felt like half a minute! I froze because I didn't understand why this creep was touching me in what I considered such an intimate way, and then he said, "Your gloves looked softer that they feel. I just had to touch them."
Wow. I mean W-O-W fucking wow!
Now, I may not be the brightest shade of yellow, but I just can't help but to think maybe he wanted to do a little more than feel my glove. I mean, if you were going to feel someones glove wouldn't you ask first? Or maybe just give it one quick stroke? I guess I could be reading way too much into it, I do tend to do that. But I really don't like it when people touch me without an invitation. It invades my personal space, and I cherish my personal space like India cherishes their cows. To invade my personal space is like pulling out a shotgun and yelling "open fire" into a herd of cattle drinking water from the Indus river, you just don't do it.
And now if you will excuse me, I have to go burn anything in my wardrobe that could possibly make a stranger want to touch me. Shit, I'm going to have to go buy some potato sacks when I am done. No one likes to touch potato sacks, right?