Brian kept patting me on the knee. We were sitting next to each other in the church hall after a funeral. There was a cup of tea and finger food. Very nice. But he didn’t have to sit next to me and pat me on the knee between sips and bites.
It was as if Brian was trying to comfort me after the funeral of my spinster-great-aunt-twice-removed. I didn’t know her that well but was hoping for a bit of a windfall in the will.
Hell no! He wasn’t trying to comfort me at all. I guess I’m a good-looking enough guy. He’d moved up from the knee and was now nonchalantly chatting and patting me on the thigh. I thought if Brian doesn’t watch it his finger food will turn into a rock cake.
There’s one thing for certain in situations like this: don’t react. So I went on unflappably chatting about Great Aunt Margaret and how nice she…
I need to escape from this casual thigh patting. I’ll stand and walk over to the table and grab another Chocolate Chunk Brownie. I need to replenish my cup of tea. Any excuse. Anything. Why the shit won’t Brian finish his sentence so I can nod in agreement, excuse myself, get up and walk away?
“Excuse me,” I said, standing to leave. “I gotta go take a leak.”
“Me too,” he said.