My husband teaches a class Thursday nights at a synagogue downtown. And because I hadn’t seen so much of him that week, I decided to join him. We stopped to pick up some food at the place he always gets dinner at and I waited for our order while my husband ran to start his class.
I’m alone with the Russian Israeli owner.
“Three years married and no kids?” He shakes his head.
“Three years and no kids?”
“No, would you like to pay for them?”
He gives me the most concerned looking face as he says, “You know, you can’t postpone having your first kid, it’s a…” and then there’s a bunch of Hebrew I don’t understand.
“What are you my freakin’ grandmother?” I snap back. “You think I don’t hear this enough from my family, I have to take it from strangers too?”
Eventually, he apologizes and offers me something extra, something free, to eat. I think about throwing it in his face but I chew it silently and methodically until my food is ready and I can stalk off.