Somebody that I used to know – a brief postmodern tragedy

Here’s a true vignette illustrating how much the social landscape has gone to hell in two decades.

December 31, 1999

I’m with an extended circle of friends in the woods.  We’ve built a fire, preparing to celebrate the turn of the millennium.  As the night draws on, I make out with a chubby brunette.  She’s always has been fun and vivacious; a defining characteristic of her personality.  What a magical evening!  Things don’t go any further than that with her, but it left fond memories.

Two years ago

I see the same person again, happy to see her.  I call out.  No answer.  Did she not hear me?  I call out again.  This time she answers.

Stop using my dead name!

By using this terminology, it seems she probably caught the radical gender theory mind-virus, and now believes she’s a man.  This is quite a surprise to me; I didn’t know she got a sex change, transitioned genders, switched her Underoos, or ever had any intentions of doing so.  Despite my lack of enthusiasm for this politically correct fad, I’ll go along with it in the name of being polite.

What would you like me to call you?

No answer.

That’s right.  The friendly, vivacious gal who once embraced me so warmly now ignores me, like I’m a bum begging for spare change or something.  Well now, that is all kinds of special.

Anyhow; since I was never informed what the new name is, I came up with something.  Henceforth, this individual will be “Somebody That I Used To Know” – and dead to me forever.