amnesia | editing

***

Claire and I had lunch at KFC.

Not my choice, ask Claire. She wanted to eat chicken.

I watched her as she bit into a piece of chicken and juice squirted all over and onto her white shirt.

"Claire! Your shirt!" I said, alarmed.

She brushed it off with a grin. "No big deal, Jave, I can wash it off."

But I didn't want my girl to wear a chicken juiced shirt...

"Claire, for goodness' sake, please go try to wash it off. I don't want to be seen with a girl with a chicken juice stained shirt." I retorted.

She flinched. "That's what I am to you? A girl? Not Claire, your girlfriend? Fine!" She stormed off. Why was she overreacting? She was supposed to be calm.

"Hey, darling, that's not what I-" I got cut off.

"Oh yeah? You can go take that mashed potato spoon and shove it u-" I grabbed her.

"Claire. Please. Just go and wash your shirt. I don't want the prettiest girl to be dirty," I said. She huffed and walked off.

What did I do wrong?

Girls, girls, girls.

So hard to understand and comprehend.