That moment when you find yourself in a conversation with someone you don’t know well, and the conversation takes a sudden detour leaving you stranded in a field of awkwardness:
(At the sink in the women’s restroom.)
She said: How was your weekend?
Me: It was good. My parents were in town so that was fun. How was yours?
Her: It was really fun. We did a marathon.
Me: A marathon?
Her: A show marathon. You probably wouldn’t like the show. You see, people don’t know the real me. Most people think I’m someone I’m not.
Big pause. Do I ask? I don’t think I want to know. But if I don’t ask, that’s rude. I can’t think of an easy way out. I’ll ask, and I’ll probably regret it.
Me: Oh, what show is that?
Her: “Sons of Anarchy.” Have you seen it?
Me: I haven’t. I’ll have to check it out.
Sigh of relief. That wasn’t so bad. It could have been worse. So far my list of people to avoid only includes one person who I nicknamed Nipple-popped Mary. Mary cornered me in the kitchen during my first week at a new job. She thought we could bond over babies. At the time I had an infant. She asked me if I was breastfeeding. I said yes. And then she began telling me how she nursed all of her babies, and how one in particular liked to pop her nipple. Pop! (She included sound effects.)