Just a Little One
"Are you making fun of my hat?"
"Give me a minute," he said.
"Are you making fun of my hat?"
"Wait a while, I’m not warmed up yet."
She blinked her eyes at him and squeezed back the corners of her mouth.
"Your hat," he glanced away from the road.
"Yes?"
"Your hat."
"Out with it," she prompted.
"There’s nothing at all funny about your hat."
"I’m sorry."
"It isn’t your fault," he said, "although you did pick it."
"Is it my responsibility?" She held the hat up to examine it, "I have so much to think about, but the humor of my hat?"
"It is neither the source of humor, nor the cause of humor in others. Or in other hats."
She sat back into the corner of the seat and looked him over.
"Sometimes," she said, "you know, sometimes. I look at you…and I wonder what the sperm next to you would have been like."