Not the sort of person I know well enough to, for instance, belch in front of and say "Hm ... I'm getting pesto. That's weird, I don't remember having any pesto today." But also not the kind of person I with whom I could play no-eye-contact, blank-stare, amnesia with, either. [Although, I can't remember his name ...]
He's all: Hey, Christa [weather, baseball, whatever]
And I'm all: [Purposefully wistful and obvious glances at the sign marked "Ladies" with distracted nods.]
I know I pee a lot. I pride myself on peeing a lot. You've never seen someone so proud of how often she pees. So it's possible he thought this trip to the restroom was less of an emergency, and more of a cry for help.]
He's all: Blah blah dogs-are-a-nice-pet ...
And I'm all: [Actually caressing the bathroom door with my fingertips.]
He's all: Ho! Ho! Ho!
And I couldn't help but think: I'm actually touching this bathroom door. If this were a game of tag, I'd be home free. I'd be more than home free. I'd be home pee.
Finally I broke free by pushing the door open, which seemed to break his conversational flow. I sprinted inside, and as the door closed, I noticed that he had turned and walked into the men's room.
It looked more like a decision than a necessity. And maybe that's why he didn't understand.