ashamed is two months old, now.

At a table, eating Indian with the entire crew [including the new(er) boyfriend], I spattered and stammered about Siobhan's old relationship. The one everyone wants to forget.

It was a story about a particularly mortifying instance in which I was the mortified one, through which was trying to get over my own embarrassment. But in doing so, I passed it on to her for that moment. I feel like a bad friend.

In the car yesterday, some months after the Punjab disaster, we revisited it. Plus I tried wiping her chest dry with my shorts yesterday. Though I think she expects these things from me and to some extent accepts them, they still taste unsavory in my mouth.