I never really loved you either.

We’re a good match.

Anyway, she said she was at the wedding dinner when a Russian Old Believer came by her table to serve her dinner: a beautiful, cheese-covered dumpling.

“Thank you,” she replied in Russian.

This simple courtesy confounded the dumpling server, since Dr. Kennedy’s demeanor and appearance made it clear that she was not a Russian Old Believer. After realizing the stranger could speak Russian, the dumpling woman decided that Dr. Kennedy deserved a second dumpling, and gave her one.

It pays to speak the local language.

Some time ago, I was at an unfamiliar taqueria here in San Francisco. The person in line ahead of me placed his order, then chatted in Spanish with the burrito maker as he concocted a large cylinder of burrito joy.

Impressed, I ordered the same item off the menu. The same worker made my burrito about half of the size as the other hombre’s. I suppose that’s what I get for being a person of noncolor who can’t speak Spanish.

“Don’t be such a cheap fucktard!” he yelled as he rode by the gang again. “If you’re going to throw a can of beer, don’t drink it all first!”

Willy’s a speedy cyclist; he said it was easy to outrun “the fat, stupid drunk” chasing him.

I disagreed with his assessment of his inept assailant. At least the tosser was smart enough to know that beer is for drinking, not hurling.

I was concerned, but wasn’t worried that she’d kill herself. No one who has told me they were thinking of ending their life has done so. Conversely, none of the suicides I’ve known have announced their intentions; they just did it. Michael went for a walk in the woods and blew his head off with a shotgun, Buzz quietly hanged himself, that sort of thing.

I talked with Fiona for a couple of hours; she convinced me that she wasn’t really suicidal. She explained that, since she was a Buddhist, she understood that committing suicide was a short-term solution to a long-term situation.

I volunteered to provide propaganda services for his endeavor, and he foolishly accepted. I used the word “foolishly” for a very good reason: I’m not very competent when it comes to competence.

He looked at the Internet site I made for him, and made a gentle, helpful bit of constructive criticism.

“Looks great, David,” Dr. Roberts said, “but there’s just one little thing. The name of the organization is Worthy Causes, not Worth Causes.”

Oops.

To make matters worse, I tried to convince him to change the name of his association.

“Worth Causes!” I exclaimed, “What a brilliant concept! Worth causes what? What doesn’t worth cause? And what is worth, anyway?”

My arguments were in vain. He insisted that I correct my typographical error, so I did.

Worth causes headaches.

Despite consummate planning, Minnisha’s a bit uncomfortable about her situation after learning that she’ll be giving birth to her—and Annalee’s—son in a few months.

“There’s something with a penis inside of me,” Minnisha said. “I guess I really didn’t think this whole process through.”

I wonder what percentage of pregnancies have been thoroughly considered and evaluated in advance? I’d guess that the answer is somewhere within spitting distance of absolute zero, which may or may not explain why the planet is overpopulated by several billion homo sapiens.