Here's Your Sign

It’s time to leave when…

That man older than your father but younger than your deceased grandfather starts eying you from across the bar.  It didn’t matter that I was intent on throbbing to the music and surrounded by a large group of close friends. That man has his eyes on me; both of ’em, staring , so intently that I noticed.

And it’s definitely time to leave when the same man tries to dance with you.  And by dance I mean undulate to no particular beat and at times appear as though having a seizure or heart attack. (I did mean to convey above that the man was in his 60s at LEAST).

But more importantly, when standing with said large group of close friends post-band chatting about the impending wedding this weekend, it is MOST DEFINITELY time to leave when the man older than your father but younger than your grandfather TOUCHES your butt.  Not a full on grope, but decidedly a cupping and brushing motion.  That ass is mine, old man, and I’ll thank you not to touch it.

Worse yet, if you turn around and find that your purse is missing it’s not because the hippie girls you danced with picked it up drunkenly and by mistake. Nay. It’s because Grandpa grabbed it.  How do I know?  Because when I went tearing out of the dance hall and into the lobby looking for the drunken hippie girls I instead found Gramps.

“That’s my fucking purse!” I screamed, snatching it from his elderly grasp.

“I was holding it for you,” he said in a creepy and most lecherous tone.

“Don’t touch my fucking purse!” I shouted at him digging for something, anything, that I could use as a weapon.

“I mean it old man, so help me, I will cut you,” I threatened holding a WINE KEY. (Was I going to corkscrew him?)

He backed away, surprised but not scared, “See you outside, sweet thing.”

Look, I will cut a bitch who steals my purse and touches my bottom inappropriately. I don’t care how old he is…

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