“I’m not a lesbian, I’m pansexual,” Shade said, wearing plaid.
“I’m a lesbian, but I don’t think it’s obvious that I’m a lesbian,” Anne said, remembering all those episodes of Ellen DeGeneres she’d watched — both the talk show and the ground-breaking sitcom.
“One of their reporters caught me sneaking into Donald Trump’s mansion, so I went down on her so that she wouldn’t tell anyone, but I don’t think she would admit to that. She was an accessory to a crime!” Shade said.
“I flirted with an IHOP waitress a couple weeks ago, but I’m really bad at flirting, so I’m choosing to believe she didn’t even realize I was flirting.”
“What’d you say?” Shade asked.
“I really like your chicken and waffles.”
Several moments passed, until Shade said, “Oh, that was you flirting. Yeah, I didn’t notice either. It doesn’t really make sense.”
“I really like chicken and waffles.”
“Yeah, that still doesn’t–”
“Anyway,” Anne said, leaning against her wall, completely unable to fathom how things could get any worse, “There’s no way things can get any worse.”
At this very moment, the sound of Betsy Arnold pissing could be heard.
Anne looked at Shade, who looked back at Anne.
“Hello?” Anne said, moving towards the bathroom.