I had a great fourth of July weekend — especially considering that the weekend completely snuck up on me.

But, of course, the weekend wouldn’t be complete without a good boy story.

The back story goes something like this — over the course of several years, I would periodically catch a glimpse of a guy that we dubbed Frog Man. He earned that nickname because his eyes would bug whenever he liked what he saw (also because he’s a funny looking dude). He blatantly stares at women lasciviously. If you’re one of his visual victims, it’s best that you don’t let him get any closer, because he’s liable to say anything, and really . . . you don’t want to hear any of it.

That said, I was at a barbecue on the fourth which was awesome — with the exception of the presence of Frog Man. He walked in and I shuddered.

I’ve never been formally introduced to Frogger, yet he approached the group of friends that I was standing with — two men, another woman and myself. He hugged the other woman (whom he didn’t know), and I immediately stuck out my hand in introduction. He hugged me anyway, and I didn’t have the presence of mind to avoid it. It was probably the most reluctant hug I’ve ever given. For him, it must have been like hugging a two-by-four. He completely ignored the men, M. and J.. They weren’t offended, and found it amusing — especially J., who kept threatening to leave me standing alone so that Frogger would feel free to approach me for another hug. Yuck.

But, Frogger was off to the races, offended every woman in his midst. He asked the bartender if her breasts were real. He grabbed another woman’s ass. He demanded that people pose for pictures. He tried to get a picture of me, but he got mostly hair and a jawbone. He spoke loudly, and caused the other party guests to wonder why he was there, and what his problem might be.

Here are the highlights of speculation:
- “I think he’s just really wasted.”
- “Maybe something’s wrong with him . . . genetically.”
- “You think he might be on drugs? Like, pills?”

Frogger and I had a second negative encounter. While waiting in line for the buffet, he stood not one foot away from me, facing me while I was looking in the other direction.

As an aside — I’m big on personal space. I’m not a fan of close talkers. I never want to get close enough to smell what you might have been eating five minutes before. I don’t want to gaze into your pores. We don’t live in China; there’s plenty of space here for all of us, so back the hell up.

Sick of him in my space, I glared at him, and he said that he was “just testing.”

Gina: “Just testing what?”
Frogger: [to the woman behind me] “She [meaning me] used to be my girl. We used to hang out all the time.”
G: “Ummm . .. WHAT are you talking about? I’ve never hung out with you.”
F: “We used to hang out at Red’s all the time?”
G: “Red’s?? I’ve been to Red’s, like, four times in my LIFE.”
F: “See . . . now she’s trying to play me off.”
Woman behind me: “Maybe she just looks like someone you know.”
F: “No, it’s her. She knows what I’m talking about.”
G: “Listen, you stand in my face, claim that I used to hang out with you — which I didn’t — and now you say I’m LYING about it? What reason would I have for lying? You’ve got the wrong person. Period.”
F: [to the woman behind me] She’s a nice woman.
G: “I’m trying to be. You’re not making it easy, though.”

Frogger went on his merry way — before he got cracked in the head with a chicken leg.

As the evening progressed, Frogger was the subject of much conversation. The women were irritated, and the men stopped ignoring him, and had decided, instead, to take him out back, Tony-Soprano-style.

Frogger must have sensed that he was in trouble and left abruptly.

We were glad to see him go, but I must admit that Frogger was responsible for a lot of co-mingling. If a guy didn’t have an opening line, he could merely point to Frog Man, and say “what’s up with him?” Much conversation ensued.

In the end, a good thing. And he gave me a great story.