So it seems there are folks out there other than Hugh who think I need a husband.  As I was on my way home, alone, in a cab after my birthday on Saturday night (well, early Sunday morning.  Details, details), the driver started chatting with me.  "Where’s your husband tonight?"  "I don’t have a husband."  "Boyfriend, then?" "Nope, no boyfriend."  He glanced back at me in the rearview mirror.  "Really?"  "Yep.  Really."  He then proceeded to tell me all about his friend Gil, who he thought I should meet.  Apparently he owns his own business – a sporting goods company.  He kept telling me this as an illustration of what good husband material Gil was.  He then asked if he could give me Gil’s contact information, which he wrote for me on a napkin and handed to me as he dropped me off at home.

I’m not sure I’m quite at the point where I’d contact someone referred to me by a perfect stranger (a cabdriver who drove me home at 4:30 a.m. no less), but I certainly was impressed to learn that his sporting goods company is strictly opposed to child labor.  Call me picky if you will, but ya gotta draw lines somewhere, folks.