Robin Epstein

Forgive me,' the woman says. 'I think I've interrupted you in a private moment.''Well,' I reply, instead of yelling something to the effect of :'No kidding lady, I'm in the bathroom!''Were you praying?' she asks.'Sort of.''That's what I thought,' the woman says with a nod, 'which is why I spoke up. I like the idea of answering prayers,' she says. 'Plus, I figure I'm so old, I could have been God's babysitter.

Having an answer is a comfort. It's when you start asking questions and those questions pull threads in the larger fabric, you're forced to wonder what you're left with. And for people of any age, it's scary to think the fabric of the universe - or the universe as you've always believed it existed - can just unwind, you know?

I hate to say it, but all that stuff they try to tell you about women being empowered and how it's fine for a woman to ask a man out, well, it's crap.' I look down at my watch. 'Seven fifty-three p.m.' 'What does that mean?' 'Official time of death of feminism,' I reply, and mom laughs.

It's not so much that I mind listening to her stories. Everybody likes to have an audience - that's why most people have kids, isn't it?