Uncle Bob BluesChapter 6
I wasn't able to literally establish my "at arms-length" strategy on Saturday. From the time Amy and I got out of my truck, a remodeled '57 Chevy, her hands latched onto my arm like one of the clamps I use when helping Leldon in his wood-working shop. Not that I minded, that much. I would have to be a complete idiot to not appreciate having a pretty girl on my arm. I was just having trouble with the fact that as we strolled through the museum, she seemingly, somehow, kept getting closer...