I’m not a close quarters person. I don’t like overly drawn out handshakes, or actual, full frontal hugs. It’s not that I don’t like people. I just like my space. I respect other people’s personal space and I start to feel a little awkward when mine is being invaded.

Along those same lines is the “open-mouth breather”. I wouldn’t mind the “open-mouth breather” so much if they weren’t, first and foremost, crossing into my hula-hoop sized space. Open-mouth breathe if you want. Just try not to do it near my mouth.

Now, I was put in a position the other day where I found myself needing to choose which was worse; the open-mouth breather, or the less common, but equally offensive nose breather. Allow me to set the scene.

I’m standing, leaning against a wall arms and legs crossed in a fairly confined space. Let’s pretend it was about the size of the side stage of a medium sized theatre. Enjoying casual conversation when all of the sudden, there it is, a slight warm, damp breeze barely grazing the hairs on my right arm. Did someone open a tiny window somewhere? Is this guy I don’t know behind me holding a miniature fan? Then it occurs to me. Nose breath.

Now this is the only thing I can think of. All conversation has now ceased, and I can now only focus on this man and his heavy nose breathing. I started to wonder if condensation would soon start to build, dampening the skin even more than the Florida heat. I am picturing waves of nose air wrapping around my arm, each and every hair coated in nostril germs.

Nose air. Over and over. From my elbow to my wrist.

Popularity: 9% [?]