I was distracted by the lingering remnants of the conversation I had with my cab (Lyft) driver. Despite my giving him better directions than the GPS, being polite, and being a good listener, he felt the need to alert me that he’d be praying for my unmarried and childless soul. I’m not sure at which point those two factors were deemed more important than my ability to leave him with a clean car and pay with tip, but I know that at the top of my street, I’d heard enough of my alleged shortcomings and asked to be dropped off. Walking on the sidewalk in the exact same direction he had to drive (down the one way street) was less awkward than another minute in the car with him.
After reaching the safety (and non-judgmental walls) of my apartment, I quickly dialed my Tuesday night gal. Even though my call was later than I’d hoped (as has become the (unfortunate) norm), it’s tradition to talk to her. And I sure needed a kind word or two after that cab ride.
“Oh, hi, Abby dear. Where are you?”
“Home now. Sorry it’s so late.”
“It’s alright,” she said to me. To someone off camera, she said, “Right there. No, a little more to the right.”
Maga was distracted by her painful knees and the nighttime caregiver who was there to alleviate said pain with a mini massage and some ointment. Even though the rest of our conversation was never given more than 55% of her attention, it was still 100% better to cap off the evening with her in my heart than that cab driver in my ear.