A regular in his seventies, who kisses any woman who gets too close to him, was at the bar the other night. He’s very excitable. If I say hi to him, he blushes. If I give him a drink, he slaps the bar. If I smile at him, he pounds his chest and grunts like a gorilla.

That’s right. He’s a caveman. As I deliver his second martini doing nothing out of the ordinary, he beckons me closer. I don’t move. He beckons me closer again. I’m already within grabbing distance. I stare him down,

“What?”

“You are well bred, very well bred.”

Does he want to check my teeth?