Mike and I were in the beer line at a concert last week.
“I think we cut in front of you,” Mike said to the guy behind us.
“No, no, not a problem,” he said, amicably. “Boy, what a line. I think there are more people here waiting for beer than there are up by the stage.” He scanned the plaza.
“What do you think that says about us as Americans?”
“We’re thirsty,” we said in unison.
“Folks been together a while?” He said.
I was at a picnic last week holding a friend’s adorable one year-old grandbaby when someone said the thing someone always says when a woman of a certain age is caught holding someone else’s baby: “whoa oh, look out, she’s going want another one.”
Really? Can I just say on behalf of all women out there, just because someone has a (presumably) functioning uterus, and is somewhere between too tragically young and embarrassingly old to procreate does not mean she’s somehow spontaneously going to decide she needs to add the complication of a(nother) wiggly, smelly bundle of anxiety to her life.
