“Where’s the husband!?”
We were just walking down the street, minding our own business, when one of those overly perky types of people – a woman created expressly for the purpose of coercing you into buying a timeshare in Virginia Beach or taking a dinner cruise on the Chesapeake – accosts us. Apparently, just the three of us didn’t look nuclear enough for her. Mom, check. 2 kids, check. Hmm, no Dad anywhere to be seen.
I was so shocked that someone would just shout this at me on a busy street corner that I had nary a care for being polite.
“He died,” I said in a completely matter-of-fact tone. Why sugar coat it?
The woman didn’t even flinch as she asked if we were headed to the beach. Didn’t even offer a half-hearted apology. We breezed past and crossed the intersection to the hotel.
It’s no secret that I am immensely sensitive to such a question at this moment in time, but why would ask something so obviously not your business? What if I had a single mother? What if my mother were a lesbian? What if my father were a solider stationed in Iraq?
Some people don’t even have a father to begin with.
Tomorrow she’ll probably ask an overweight woman when “the baby is due”.