“Bud,” she said. “You’re very nice to come.” Although my sense, from her mildly nauseated expression, was that I was not nice to come. “Hey, Jen. I was sorry to hear about Judy.” What ensued was awkward. What I thought would be a handshake, she thought would be an exceptionally brief and, if possible, contact-free hug. But upon seeing me stretch out my hand, she stopped the hug and extended her hand. Unfortunately, I had changed course and was going in for the hug, creating an image that, from a distance, probably looked like a man hugging a mannequin. Against the mannequin’s will.
