Most forgettable, that's what you are.

Within a two-hour period on Sunday, I ran into three people who I have met on separate occasions within the past four months. Each of these individuals reintroduced themselves to me, stating emphatically that it was so good to meet me. "But we've met before," I wanted to say. "Don't you remember?"

To one, "it was a warm evening in October. You were having a cocktail in a scotch glass and I distinctly recall that there was a lime resting on the ice cubes. We discussed the gentrification of DC, how a neighborhood can be turned into an entirely new world within the span of five years. As evidence of your tightly-knit community, you told me about sitting your neighbor's cat - a man whose name I distinctly recall to be James - anytime he is on travel for work. I remember you mentioning the year you bought your apartment, and the irony of the story of the teacher who made the sale. How does the memory of even my face elude you?"

Context clues be damned (e.g., you have been a friend of the beau for years, you spent last Thanksgiving with my family in this very same house), this has happened to me since the dawn of time. I find it infuriating. It's also slightly confusing, given the fact that I have a face that many have told me is not run of the mill. You see, I have been afflicted with a chin that can only be explained as the likely result of my mother being a comedy club groupie in the early 70s. It is paired with a nose that lacks both cartilage and structure; think a ball of Play Dough smashed with a frying pan. I'm not easy to forget.

What might be even more insulting to my ego is that people cannot place the content of our discussions. I find many of these brief, informal encounters to be some of the richer interactions I have in life. The five-minute discussion with the housekeeper in Toronto who tearfully recounted a teaching life left behind in India. The colleague with whom I braved an uncomfortable icebreaking exercise. The couple whose Pleasantville role assumptions made me alarmingly uncomfortable while apparently working beautifully for them. The close friend of an ex who spent at least three days on my couch during his last visit.

I think if we're honest with ourselves, we will collectively admit to remembering exactly what we ordered the last time we went to IHOP. I bet most of us recall to the penny how much the last gallon of gas was that we got on the cheap. But isn't life in the human details?

Maybe therein lies the key. More unleaded plus and Belgian waffles coming to a memorable Kris conversation near you.