Story time with Kara.
So, last night (after my event), I went out with my publisher and some of our friends.
This is how the night goes:
We drink wine.
At some point, the driver takes us to Rocco’s Taco’s.
Rita (one of our girlfriends) wants to talk to some guys that are sitting at one of the tables. These men (who are in their forties) are arm wrestling.
Rita drags me away from my happy place (my food) and makes me come with her.
The men are laughing. I once read in a Chuck Palahniuk that you should mimic people’s body language and actions when you don’t know what else to do or you are trying to size them up. For some reason (I’m assuming that reason was Chardonnay), I recall this.
I decide to smile and laugh with them.
It backfires. They think that we are friends now.
We are not friends yet.
One of the arm wrestlers puts his hand on my back. I decide that this is stupid. Before I can react, he wraps his arms around my waist into a giant intimate hug.
I–shocked–stare at him with eyes wider than the moon…my mouth ajar.
He LIFTS ME UP LIKE A BABY AND PUTS ME ON HIS LAP, ROCKING ME BACK AND FORTH.
I squirm out of his arms and run away.
I decide that I’m not done.
I return. He turns around, still smiling.
I scold him like a three year old in the middle of the bar. I explain that I am a grown woman and that he is not a 24 year old frat boy. He says he was joking. I say he doesn’t even know my name and is never EVER to touch a woman or put her on his lap like that. I inform him that I am an adult and don’t have to put up with strange stupid men touching me or picking me up just because I’m small and they think it’s funny.
I storm off. Other men at the bar stop me and inform me that I am right and that he’s an ass. They buy me a drink.
Triumphantly, I return to my girlfriends and clink glasses.
Because to hell with that guy.