I remember when I was young -perhaps around eight years old?- it was after swim practice. I was sitting outside, near the restaurant, waiting to go home. It was starting to get dark. My coach came up to me, the smell of beer seeping through his pores. He put his hand on my shoulder. He leaned in and whispered into my ear. I’m sure it seemed innocent enough to everyone else, but I felt like my personal space was completely and utterly violated.
To this day, I still can’t stand having anyone with beer breath close to me.
To have my husband fall asleep smelling of beer in our bed triggers that memory in me.
I hate it.
It makes me skin crawl.