After a brief hiatus, during which I have arrived at and (thus far) successfully navigated several significant turning points in my life, I triumphantly return! To my millions of loyal readers I offer apology for my absence. Forgiveness is assumed.
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"A boy, zat's good!" the frenchman exclaimed, and behind his silver moustache his face creased in a broad grin. "You'll be happy. Boys is easier."
"Really?" I asked, though I didn't doubt him.
"Ha! Over a girl, I would take to raise four boys at once! Boys is easier. You can trust me; I had one of each."
Maybe it was the tense preference, maybe just a strange undertone in his cheerful sandy voice, but somehow I knew there was more, and the storyteller in me wanted details. I couldn't help myself.
"Had?" I asked him.
"My daughter is dead two years ago; a car accident."
"I'm sorry for your loss," I said, and I was, but consoling those who have lost beloved pets on a weekly basis has turned delivery of that line into a well-honed performance for me. "That's terrible," I added, hoping to add a little substance.
He shrugged. "It is what it is. She grew up to be a happy woman. I still have my son. I love them both as much as ever. But when she was zeventeen, ha! Did we fight? You wouldn't believe! No, boys is easier. You'll be happy."
