"Dude," said the ad. "Stop the spread."
Go on; try it. No one needs to know.
Start with your ankles and your knees together then pull them as far apart as your adductors will allow. Yep, today was a bad day for skinny jeans.
Are you gate-ing, yet? Gap-ing? Birthing, perhaps? No, no, now you're man-spreading.
We've all had teachers. Uncles. We've all seen weirdos on the bus with the too-tight chinos and lumpy definition. Now, New York City has decided to do something about it. It's taken me a month of subway riding to actually see the ads, which apparently cost the local authorities almost a hundred grand.
"It's a space issue," the posters read, below the offending man-spread.
Let's be honest. Although a worthy cause, man-spreading is much more than a space issue.
Anyone familiar with the basics of anatomy will understand the mammalian urge to ventilate but, as someone who also boasts the capacity of vision, I'm more than happy to sacrifice my own spread for the sake of not witnessing others'.
At Penn Station, I changed trains.
In the middle of a carriage, in the middle of a bench, there sat another proud man-spreader. They need to buy more ads.
• Jack Tame is on Newstalk ZB, Saturdays, 9am-midday.