For the second time in the evening Stacy felt a hand on her knee. Her brain was a little fuzzy after downing a margarita and a beer within the first half hour of arriving at the bar but she needed something to strengthen her resolve. After some badgering she had accepted the invitation from the office cool kids for a night at their favorite watering hole.
Working with people that were 10 or even 20 years younger was taxing at times, sometimes Stacy felt like an anthropologist observing a strange new tribe. She had heard bits and pieces about their Friday outings around the office but she had dismissed it as youthful bragging and one-upmanship. “These kids have no idea the things I’ve seen,” she frequently thought to herself.
The first hand on her knee was from Vanessa, the queen bee of the group. Stacy had written it off as the overfamiliarity of the sorority girl type. It seemed to go along with the effusive greetings and constant hugging. The hand never went anywhere and Vanessa moved on soon to flit about some other beautiful person.