Obviously, this was not a hypothetical situation, but something that happened on Friday at Friday Night Live in Herndon.
I wasn't drunk. I just had no idea that there was any history there.
Boy, did I feel like an asshole. I couldn't stop apologizing.
At least there was a form of instant karmic payback, as some new friends I'd just been introduced to introduced me to a woman they knew who looked oddly familiar.
It was slightly hard to hear because of the band, but she had something of an accent.
I asked what she did -- she said she was in the mortgage business.
I asked where she lived -- she said she lived in Reston, near the Town Center.
The pieces started coming together -- after a series of questions (considerably less than 20, fortunately), I figured out that it was my ex-girlfriend's landlord/roommate.
She also confirmed that I wasn't paranoid, and that it was indeed my ex that I'd seen in town a few weeks ago.
I was appropriately self-flagellating, but it was still a little awkward.
It's not that it's a small world -- it's just that Reston is a small, unincorporated portion of Fairfax County.
Went to Jimmy's afterwards. Had to wait in line for about 10 minutes, too. The worst part, though, was that I had specifically skimped on lunch so that I would be set to have the Friday Fish Fry, which is fish and chips with a side of pierogi, which is really good and which I haven't had in probably a year.
And yet I wasn't hungry in the least bit.