Car Service Guy: So, you’ll need to come in again in 10,000 miles. The car will alert you.
Me: The car will just tell me when I need to change my oil?
Car Service Guy: Yes, ma’am. Right on the dashboard.
Me: Wish my tampon had that feature!
Car Service Guy: …
Me: It was a joke. I don’t wish my tampon had a dashboard. I remember to change it. Most of the time. I’ve never died of toxic shock. Well, I guess that’s obvious.
Last week when I was in New York, I saw a man on the subway who was magically standing upright without holding onto anything. He had amazing stubble, was reading a library copy of a Zadie Smith book, and looked like he knew how to camp. I thought to myself, “That could be my soul mate.”
I glanced around and wondered, “Is anyone thinking that about me? Am I someone else’s subway soul mate?” I quickly finger brushed my hair and sat up straighter.
Then I realized that I was a woman on the subway with three huge bags, each one hitting at least two people every time the subway jerked. I was wearing sweaty work out clothes, wolfing down an egg sandwich in public, and looked like I was in the beginning phases of training my hair not to need shampoo. Probably not someone’s subway soul mate.