She was seated next to him at a dinner party – he was handsome and wealthy and her friend thought they might hit it off. They exchanged introductory pleasantries but even in those first moments, she noticed that his responses were already just a little off kilter. In tiny ways.
As dinner progressed, she realized two things: his water glass was filled with vodka — a bottle of which he had under the table — and his stories were increasingly more erratic and far fetched. She only listened at first, but then she started to poke fun at the drunken caricature seated next to her. He was telling her about sleeping in urinals, this rich blue eyed boy-man who never got himself together. She rolled her eyes in disbelief. He smiled wildly into her face and a moment later, stuck his fork in her thigh. It pierced the denim of her jeans and broke the skin. Her own fork clattered to the ground.
If this was his way of flirting, she’d rather be anywhere else – even sleeping in a urinal.