Hey dude, just want to make sure you know that there is no need to apologize for your dad, Richard’s behavior last night. When we were all standing in the kitchen and he, apropos of nothing, put his hot, wrinkly hand on the small of my back, I was totally cool with that, so really, no worries.
I didn’t come to your dinner party expecting to have a very old man put his very old hands on me without asking, but it is chill that it happened. Don’t get me wrong, your dad is in no way sexually exciting to me, but it’s nice to feel someone I just met touch me so close to my butt. It was almost like we were dating except I’m 37 years younger than him and we’re not.
Man, we’re lucky he had a third glass of wine, huh? Otherwise Richard might not have felt so comfortable hooking his thumb into the belt loop of my jeans while his wife of 40 years sat 5 feet away. I’m glad the sauvignon blanc he gulped down gave him the liquid courage he needed to assign his physical appearance the generous assessment required to wink at a 31 year-old woman that many times.
I just wanted to explain why I didn’t whip around, grab him by his arthritic wrist and yell, “Get your retired-ass fingers off my still-young body, you patriarchal piece of shit. You are single digits from death and you have no business making eye contact with me much less touching what’s basically my ass.” I didn’t not say that because I felt shocked, uncomfortable and too embarrassed to say anything in front of your whole family — it’s because I was very, very comfortable with it.