So what set off yesterday's blog? Space. Personal space.
I'm not generally one of those people who needs a zone around myself. I enforce no three-second-rule for those who linger in my "lane". I have rubbed shoulder to shoulder with strangers on airplanes, and had my arm sat on by a woman "standing" in the aisle of a New Jersey Transit bus.
But there's a limit.
Just before the start of my son's first grade music concert last week, I was sat on by a woman in the folding chair next to me. She turned away from me to speak with her friends, and placed her butt literally on top of my thigh.
The chairs were close together - I had no place to go even if I managed to extract my leg from underneath her cheeks. I looked over at my wife on the other side of me and said, "Look what's going on over here."
Her advice: Push the woman off.
I don't know why, but I couldn't bring myself do it.
Upon seeing my lack of nerve, my darling wife began to exert pressure on me from the other side in an attempt to start these dominoes falling! No luck.
Mercifully, the chair-challenged woman straightened around when the show began a few minutes later.