“As I turned around to head back to the outdoor patio, my elbow poked the guy next to me. Unlike Daniel, this guy had a higher squish-to-muscle ratio.
"I'm sorry," I squeaked as I maneuvered around him.
"Watch where you're going," he grumbled while looking me up and down. As I walked away, he muttered, "Stuck-up bitch."
My mouth fell open, searching for words. The alcohol clouded my brain, making it hard to know how to respond.
"The only stuck-up bitch here is you," Daniel said and walked closer to the aggressor. "She said she was sorry. I believe you owe her an apology."
"I don't owe her shit. You and your girlfriend can get the fuck outta my face." He turned to his entourage and made a face that made them laugh.
Why that seemed like the best time to jump into the conversation, I don't know, but it did. "Look, you walking Dockers pants model, I said I was sorry. And you're a fucking asshole to talk to someone that way----ANY human that way---in the holiest, Dolly-est place on earth, well, second to Dollywood." I wagged my index finger in his face. "I have another apology for you. I'm sorry you took an innocent bump of an elbow into your beer pooch and tried to turn it into a personal attack. And I'm sorry to your friends for having a loser who drags down their social circle.”