I don't "do" breath

Call me crazy, but I don't like breath. It is often hot, moist, and it sometimes smells. That's why I avoid close-talkers and try always to have gum or mints handy for me and my friends. If a person's breath smells during a conversation, I'm smiling, but I'm holding my breath, too.

For instance, I don't like sleeping down-breath (similar to down-wind) from anyone because they might breathe on me. I can't breathe another person's breath. I have to breathe clean, cold air when I sleep, or no sleep for me!

I also never understood when, in high school, my friends' moms would smell their teenagers' breath when they got home from hanging out with friends to make sure they hadn't been smoking or drinking. I mean, who volunteers to smell a person's breath?!?! Gross. If we face that problem in the future, Kurt will have to be on breath-duty. I refuse.

One time I was trying to explain to Kurt that I didn't want to smell his breath, so I told him, "I don't do breath." "You don't do breath?" he responded. So, now if the topic of breathing on people in any way comes up, Kurt knows to explain, "Oh, Marty doesn't do breath."

One time in church we sang "Breathe on Me, Breath of God." Kurt and I died laughing because -- it's true -- I don't do breath. In the car after church, Kurt asked me what sort of theological predicament this presented for me. I mean, the idea of God breathing on me (any breath, really) gives me retard tingles. But I told Kurt that, since God is perfect, I bet he has perfect-smelling breath, so I could likely tolerate it for the sake of my own sanctification...I guess.