A Plea for Elbow Room

This seemed to be my weekend for dealing with "personal space" issues. Or, you know, simply observing them...which, for a writer, is essentially the same thing.

My fabulous brother took me to a rockin' country concert on Saturday night--an awesome Kenny Chesney show with Sugarland and Pat Green opening--but much as I enjoyed the performances, I kept getting distracted by the crowd and the problems certain individuals had with other individuals. (I should point out that several of these aforementioned individuals, having consumed too many beers and hurricanes in tailgating mayhem prior to the concert, were approaching a fall-over-drunk stage before the lead guitarist even strummed the first note.)

With 30,000 adoring yet occasionally self-centered fans on the lawn, there was much scuttling over blanket space and jockeying for elbow room. There were arguments ranging in volume from nasty hisses to bellowing threats. There were men pulling their girlfriends away from face-offs with other women, and women dragging their husbands by the shirttails away from guys with raised fists. Wholly entertaining--if somewhat irritating--stuff.

And then came Sunday at the community swimming pool. Wow. Let me just point out that women don't have the monopoly on cat fights. There's nothing like sitting under the big blue poolside umbrella, trying to keep an eye on my splashing son and simultaneously read my book in the shade, while the two grown men in the row ahead shout at each other for ten long minutes over the occupancy of cheap plastic deck chairs.

Uh-huh.

Just makes me want to tell everyone: Take a deep breath and step away from the other mammals, please. We're all trying to coexist on the same planet...any chance we could do that respectfully?