Reasons why Fran might be avoiding you
I met someone new at church the other day. 'Tell me your name,' she said, 'although I'm bound to forget it by next week.' 'Tell me yours,' I said, 'but, ditto.' We exchanged names in the same way people exchange business cards, knowing that their loss is inevitable and that they will be found, years later, down the gap between the sofa cushions or in the pocket of a jacket that needs dry cleaning. 'There are people who've been coming here for years,' my new friend said, 'and I forgot their name early on. Now it's too embarrassing to ask.' 'Or to check whether they are a Nick or a Mick, or a Jean or a Joan.' 'If I even got that far,' she said. 'We should have a Church Amnesty Day for forgotten names,' I said, 'as they do with weapons or stolen goods or those library books you've had since 1974.' We agreed that this was a good idea. On Namenesty Day, it would be perfectly okay to admit, &#