I got on the elevator at work yesterday morning. Late, as usual. Feeling guilty. I punched the #6 button just as another woman walked on. She hit button #3. She was an attractive African-American woman in a print dress, shortish and pudgy, her sunglasses perched on her slightly beehive-style, curled hair.
"It is SO hot," she announced. "Yesterday was worse."
"Yeah," I agreed.
"And I'm going through menopause, which makes it even worse."
Uh? (Marie thinks for a minute, says nothing.)
"At least we're not in Texas," she declared as the elevator stopped at 3. "Have a good day!" She smiled cheerfully and walked off, leaving me to mull my fortunes over.