Inez gazes at my face, eyes narrowing. I smile awkwardly, shifting my legs uncomfortably.
“I’m serious, have we met before? You look familiar, or at least look like someone I know,” says her.
“You are the one thousand seven hundred eighteenth person saying that I look like someone else,” I reply. “I have this very typical face,” I grin rather nervously. Inez doesn’t seem to buy it. Then she cites her high school, asking me whether it’s my high school too. I meekly say yes. Then she name names, her high school friends, asking me whether I know any of them. Unfortunately I know some of them and reluctantly admit it. Inez smiles triumphantly, I know it she says. Apparently we went to the same high school but fortunately for me, never in a same clique. She’s so keen of getting to know me and asking for my real name. I politely tell her that I am so much in the closet and have no plan of coming out anytime soon. So telling her my name while she knows so much about my circle of friends is a bit frightening idea.
“Not that I don’t trust you, but the slip of tongue do occur, for whatever unconscious psychopathologic seeds inside the mind,” I gabble in my feeble attempt to cite Freud. Inez, being a psychologist and a Freudian, beams at my wishy washy. She gets the point, and we spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing, my true identity is safely kept.
Two weeks later…
“I’m serious, have we met before? You look familiar, or at least look like someone I know,” says her.
“You are the one thousand seven hundred eighteenth person saying that I look like someone else,” I reply. “I have this very typical face,” I grin rather nervously. Inez doesn’t seem to buy it. Then she cites her high school, asking me whether it’s my high school too. I meekly say yes. Then she name names, her high school friends, asking me whether I know any of them. Unfortunately I know some of them and reluctantly admit it. Inez smiles triumphantly, I know it she says. Apparently we went to the same high school but fortunately for me, never in a same clique. She’s so keen of getting to know me and asking for my real name. I politely tell her that I am so much in the closet and have no plan of coming out anytime soon. So telling her my name while she knows so much about my circle of friends is a bit frightening idea.
“Not that I don’t trust you, but the slip of tongue do occur, for whatever unconscious psychopathologic seeds inside the mind,” I gabble in my feeble attempt to cite Freud. Inez, being a psychologist and a Freudian, beams at my wishy washy. She gets the point, and we spend the rest of the evening talking and laughing, my true identity is safely kept.
Two weeks later…
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