Yesterday, I had the following conversation, in a cab, on my way home from seeing my shrink.
Driver: How is life these days?
Me: Good, thanks.
Driver: Are you a married lady?
Me (Don't ask why I answer these sorts of prying questions. It must be the first born child in me, or the fact that I am stuck in this guy's cab with the doors locked): Yes.
Driver: Your kids are out on their own, then.
Me (See above): No, they're not. They're three and eight.
Driver: Oh! So it was a late marriage.
Me: Not that late.
Driver (Turning around to get a better look): You look like you have no hair.
Me (Sharply): I have cancer.
Driver (Chagrined): Oh! I'm sorry. (Pause) I shave my head most summers.
Driver: But I didn't this summer.
Me (Politely): Mmmm.
Long, awkward silence.
Driver: So are you going to be OK? What do the doctors say?
Me: I hope so.
Driver: Good, that's good.
I was enormously relieved when his cellphone rang. It was the longest cab ride of my life.
My spouse, when I told him the story: Did you turn the cab around and go right back to the shrink?
When given the choice, I prefer to laugh than cry. And a little righteous anger never hurt anyone.