“You too Denise.”
“Sure.” I flashed a wide grin, wondering at what point in the past two decades Denise turned hippie-Hare-exotic-dancer. A little experimentation that night might’ve been fun, but with someone less…weird.
Then I deserted her –still twirling- and made a beeline for the bar.
Denise, if you're reading this, sorry I didn't call you. I have a perfectly good excuse: I ducked and ran while you were jotting your number down for me.
And sorry I rejected your Facebook friend offer last year, but I didn't wanna be friends.