15 minutes ago. I’m walking down the street. I’m in a fairly good mood. A woman is on the sidewalk in front of me and next to her is a parked ambulance with the driver’s side window rolled down. As she walks past, she says “Hey, so am I eating too much?” She presses one hand to the curve of her back, the other to her belly and turns sideways; the typical “before” pose. She’s laughing, enjoying the joke of asking for free advice from a professional. I brace myself, because I’m about to pass them, and I know it’s coming. The ambulance driver says “No, no. You’re fine.” and then he spots me. I can tell because he goes silent for just a beat or two. I get a few steps ahead, enough to give him confidence that I can’t hear. He says “There, there. Look at her. See? You’re fine. I’ll be seeing her soon, though.” They laugh knowingly. Even expecting it, I’m shocked to hear it. It’s grim. Some part of me, the old part I haven’t healed yet, believes him. The other part wants to swing around and force my humanity on him. Make him see me. Spit in his face. But I keep walking. I don’t even miss a step. I never do.