gobsmacked

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.

Silence

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.