Even though I deliberated, and changed my mind about attending, I did eventually decide that I would in fact attend. Glenn decided that he would rather spend the extra time at his favorite hangout, Apple. Going stag didn’t worry me, and my good friend Joan said that she would be attending stag as well, so we could sit together. It sounded like decent fun, so I agreed. That was until I learned what the entertainment venue for the evening was to be.
I waited and waited in the lobby for Joan to show up, but she didn’t. I found out later that she had a last minute emergency call from her granddaughter, saying that the Au Pair that had been brought from Germany to care for her little ones was late getting home from her day off. When given the choice between a night off and babysitting her much adored great grandkids, there is never any question of which way she’d go! As a result, I ended up sitting with a group of people that I didn’t know, but they were friendly and welcoming.
Soon, it was announced that “Santa Clara’s Favorite Elvis Impersonator” would entertain us after the meal. Oh goody. Not being from he generation that appreciated the REAL Elvis, I was not delighted. Since most of the other volunteers were of the age group that loved the crooner, I sat politely while he started his routine.
Many of my fellow female volunteers were swooning, but I was NOT. His patently FAKE thick black sideburns were plastered to the sides of his face like bandages. As he sang, he strutted around the room, striking poses. Much to the delight of the audience, he would stop beside a female audience member, put his arm around her, and place his furry cheek against hers. Giggling and cooing, the ‘girls’ stroked his satiny shirt and returned his embrace. I periodically muttered to myself, as I watched the blushing babes make fools of themselves.
As luck would have it, he spied me at the front of my table. The other ladies noticed, and playfully poked my arm as he relentlessly approached. If he had only heard what I was muttering to myself, he would have known that I was not going to go easily. Soon, he was upon me, with his arm draped heavily around my shoulders. As he crooned he rubbed his cheek against mine. I fixed my gaze straight ahead of me, and muttered, “Good Lord, spare me, “. I was gritting my teeth, while my table mate admonished me, saying that I could “at least, SMILE!”
SOON, he moved on, but not soon enough for my taste. It also became apparent that my barely concealed disgust had offended my fellow diners. From that point on, I was discretely eliminated from the casual conversation around the table. I didn’t need any more convincing, so I finished my coffee and bid the others farewell.
When I got to my car, I called Glenn at work. He was quite happy to be picked up a bit early, as he had not been able to go to the cafeteria to get supper. Apparently, Apple had provided their every few months treat to the staff in the form of a beer bash with snacks in their amphitheater, while being entertained by Pharrell Williams, a Grammy award winning performer. His final song was “Happy”, the tune he is best known for. Because of all the infrastructure in place for this event, he was unable to get past security to enter the building where the food service were! The beer and munchies were apparently not enough to fill his tummy!
While driving home, I told him about my evening. He was quiet for a while, then commented that I really did have an aversion to people getting ‘in my space’, which is a typically Canadian thing, according to him! I disagreed, at least about it being a Canadian thing!
“I just don’t like being touched, or in this case, MAULED, by people I really don’t know!”
He then patted my knee, and smiled.