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It's fight or flight time. Or hide behind a hedge time. One of those.
The first stage is sheer panic. No trace of cohesive thought, just panic.
Why does this always happen when you have "a skin thing?"
This is MY overpriced organic supermarket/hipster coffee place/patch of pavement, they simply cannot be here.
Maybe if I stare at the floor for the next seventeen minutes whilst power walking off the edge of the earth I won't have to engage.
Nope.
Is throwing fresh veg appropriate in Sainsburys?
They can't faze you. They're NOTHING to you.
"Oh, hi there! It has been a long time. I definitely haven't been hoping you sustain a painful but ultimately not fatal injury all this time."
How long until I can leave this conversation?
Yes, please tell me more about your plans to teach English in Indonesia.
This had better not become a regular thing, I hope really hope they move soon.
*exaggerates entire life to sound busy and interesting*
Self confidence restored. They want me back, I know it.
Was I drunk the entire time?
The tension is so palpable you could spread it on toast.
Thank the Lord. I was considering a well-timed asthma attack.
Do we hug? Do we do a weird we're-standing-two-feet-apart wave?
You definitely deserve a drink. Or some refined, heavily processed carbohydrates.