A group of us had been joyfully imbibing the delights offered at a local, well known bar. It was a fun and relaxed evening. As we decided to take the party to the street and find our next location . . . several of our party wandered out to the street and some darted to the loo. Adhering to the rule that no drunk is left behind, I stayed in the bar, near the door, so those coming from the loo would not worry they'd been left behind.
So, I'm standing near the entrance, minding my own business, enjoying my buzz . . . when I noticed a young man leaning in rather close to me. At first, I thought he was examining my monkeyish features . . . then he planted a wet, sloppy kiss on my face. He drunkenly asked "how was that?" and I mumbled something about it being "fine."
And the moment he turned away, I fumbled in my pack for sanitizer and applied it directly to my face while declaring that I'm pretty sure I knew where his lips had been . . .
You know, there was a time in my life when a kiss from a stranger would have been taken as a compliment rather than typhus waiting to happen. sigh.
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