He flung his arms akimbo, wrestling wtih the wheels at his side to propel him down the glossy hallway.
"Hello! What's your name?"
"Hi, Paula," I replied.
"Are you married? the scruffy grey-haired double chin asked.
"Am I married?"
Haven't been shot that question in awhile, never from a man bent in half by a wheelchair.
"Yes."
Haha nervous laugh projected back.
"No."
"You don't look like you're married!"
Is that supposed to be a jab, joke, stab-at-my-heart, kidding fun?
"Have a nice night!" he cavorted, ignorant of my chagrin.
I scowl then chckle at my own indignation. Turn the corner to the last room on the left to visit my infirm friend.
She got a kick out of the story anyway!
I'm not so sure I'll survive the wit.
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