No shame after Pride.
“I met you before,” more than a few people have said this month, their eyes falling in mild irritation. “Twice.”
“What?!” I always laugh. “I’m sorry. Where?”
“Pride?” They cling to the uptalk and the last hope that I might actually remember them.
“Ohhh - well there you go. You can’t begrudge me THAT. I was drunk for three straight days.”
That excuse has appeased most of them. As for the rest, well, whatever. I forgot them for a third time when their frown failed to flip the fuck back around.
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