On the way home from Chicago, I took Aitch with me into a bathroom in O’Hare for a pit stop while Husband tried to buy an edible lunch for the plane ride. As I availed myself of the facilities, I kept up my usual steady stream of inane chatter, as mothers do: part sociability, part language lesson, part running commentary. You know: “We have to wait in line! OK, let me just wheel you over here! Oh, Mommy just loves automatic toilet seat covers! We’re so happy Mayor Daley has a friend in the toilet seat cover business! Mommy doesn’t care if Mary Daley expands O’Hare all the way to Iowa, as long as he keeps the automated toilet seat covers!”

After I had washed my hands, I wheeled Aitch around, avoiding various women circulating to and fro, and remarked brightly, “This is certainly a busy place, isn’t it?”

A woman paused at the entrance of her stall and responded, “Yes, it is,” but with an awkward look on her face as if to say, “Lady, you must be seriously starved for conversation.”