I should have looked at him, considering how serious he sounded. He never sounded serious. He was too lighthearted to sound serious in this way. I did not, though, as I was too busy positioning the ficus’ pot. “Sorry, my friend, but yes. Go have-”
Go have fun. That was what I wanted to say. The sound that escaped me, instead of the word ‘fun’, was more of an undignified squawk than anything else. He grabbed me from behind, hands under my arms and lifted me straight off the ground. It was a good thing I’d put the ceramic down.
“What are you doing?”
“You are not staying here another day. We are going out.”
I hated when he used his height advantage against me. Or width. Mass. I didn’t mind being small, just him being large. My protests came out as a series of small pushes against his hands, which did not loosen. “I am not. I don’t want to. I’m busy gardening!”
“You are busy rearranging things you rearranged yesterday. You’re making up more work for yourself now. We are going out. I won’t let you stay holed up for an entire week again.”
The fact I liked being “holed up” did not seem to hold any weight in this argument, so I didn’t bother bringing it up. In vain, I tried to think of something else. “We can do something. Here.”
My suggestion changed nothing. “No. We’re going out.”
Eventually I had to give up, because there would be nothing more embarrassing than him bodily seating me in the passenger seat of his car. Contritely, I got in the car when he set me down and put on my seat belt.
There would be other ways of escaping my friend’s socializing tendencies.