Can’t Touch This

Hello and welcome back!

I am writing this blog post from an office. Not my office. A French office. I’ve been working on a project with a French company from home, but this week they flew me out to Paris to wrap a few things up in person. And for some reason, that means I have to physically be in the office while I write. I don’t hate it. I just don’t like it. Very Big Brother is watching vibes.

So here’s what I’m doing right now: pretending to work. I have to be seen typing, so I am typing. But instead of working on the project, I am writing this. To be fair, I did start my actual work. Consider this a break. A very productive break.

There were a few things I wanted to write about this past week. Little moments that made me go, “Oh, this belongs in the blog“. But I forgot all of them (my memory is gradually becoming worse and worse, and the white hairs on my head are igniting a slow panic that I suspect will explode on the 27th of September this year. iykyk) and my notepad (the sacred keeper of fleeting thoughts) is back home.

The only thing I do remember is a very telling incident that happened with one of my closest friends. She always complains that I don’t “hug” or enjoy physical touch. Every time we meet or say goodbye, she forces me into a hug. I don’t mind it… with her. For exactly two seconds, not a millisecond more.

Anyway, we were in the car the other day, and she started saying, “I need to be slapped—“ and before she could even finish her sentence, before I even knew why she needed to be slapped, I slapped her. (Tell me I’m not a good friend, I dare you).

So, she, of course, started laughing and immediately pointed out the contradiction: “you hesitate every time I ask for a hug, but the second I request violence, you’re on it like a reflex,” And honestly? It made me laugh too. Because seriously— why? hmm?

Why is physical affection a pause and evaluate moment for me, but an impulsive slap is just go time?

There’s probably a deeper reason behind this. I’ve read (not tiktoked) that some people (especially those who struggle with vulnerability or lean towards hyper-independence… nenenene) might find comfort in playful roughness while feeling uneasy with prolonged intimacy. 

My take on it? A hug requires receiving affection, and that kind of openness can feel… exposing to me (blekh). A slap, though, a joking one, of course, is different. It’s quick, controlled, and doesn’t linger. No expectation, no emotional weight, just a shared laugh and an immediate return to normalcy. Maybe, in some strange way, my brain registers affectionate aggression as a more comfortable form of connection. Healthy? Debatable. Funny? Absolutely.

So maybe that’s the lesson here: Love comes in different forms. Some people hug, some people slap, and some people sit in a French office pretending to work while blogging about both.

XOXO

Au revoir, Humphrey!