Keeping hands to yourself is hard when you love touching
IT was a harmless graze. A little tap at the very most. Actually, it was a full blown pat. On the bum.
And it was no ordinary tush. It belonged to my boss.
See, I'm an inappropriate toucher. Always have been. I don't mean to be a creep, but I'm worried I'm moving into weirdo territory.
The entire staff was in the tearoom to farewell a colleague. Seating was scarce, so I rolled in an office chair to sit on.
It was quite low to the ground. My boss, Allen, was standing next to me. He made an incredibly moving speech.
Everyone clapped. I went one better. I gave him a bum tap - a tap of approval.
Most would apply it to the shoulder. A firm handshake would have done the trick. But, no. Not me.
A bum tap. Who does that?
This will make me sound crazy. But it's true. I love to touch and to be touched. Cuddles. Holding hands. Back tickles.
With almost anyone (well, within reason). My motto is "Any touching is good touching." I stand by that.
It's started to rub off on my workmates.
The Observer is fling-free in the office romance stakes at the moment (as far as I know). But to an outsider it may appear differently.
We all touch. A lot. The other day, a few of us were in the tearoom again. We were talking shop.
But it looked more like a meditation group. I was holding one colleague's hand. She had hers placed lightly on another's knee, who was patting my back.
Ridiculous. But, hey, what's a little bum tap among friends?