"Are you... actually crying over a crab boat guy you've never met right now?!" I ask with an incredulous stare. This is insane.
Leaning forward in my seat, I rest my knees against my elbows, fingers pushing deep into my hair. Why does he have to be so fucking weird?
"How much did you have to drink the last time I was here, Danny?" I realize asking a question like that for a second time makes it sound like I'm staging an intervention for an alcoholic, but it seems like the gentlest way to approach it. Not that I'm convinced gentle is the way to go. Quick, like a band-aid, that might have been easier. Direct, with less chance for crossed wires. Maybe this approach will result in less shouting.
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Leaning forward in my seat, I rest my knees against my elbows, fingers pushing deep into my hair. Why does he have to be so fucking weird?
"How much did you have to drink the last time I was here, Danny?" I realize asking a question like that for a second time makes it sound like I'm staging an intervention for an alcoholic, but it seems like the gentlest way to approach it. Not that I'm convinced gentle is the way to go. Quick, like a band-aid, that might have been easier. Direct, with less chance for crossed wires. Maybe this approach will result in less shouting.