Yesterday I took the only direct flight from Boston to Salt Lake City. I was in the second row of coach, so I mingled with the first-class passengers as I was deplaning. As I left through the jetway I bumped into a man who had stopped short. He turned around and gave me a big smile, the kind of smile the CEO of your company wears when he is going through the hallways and knows that people will recognize him and expect him to be gracious in return. It was Mitt Romney.

I knew I should take this historic opportunity to speak to a recent candidate for the presidency of our country, but what could I say? “I would really like to wipe that smirk off your face” might be considered unacceptably confrontational. I thought about it all the way through the terminal as I heard him chatting to some young men about his family (Ann is in Simi Valley, one of the boys is at Tufts, etc.) Then he left the terminal while I went to baggage claim, and the moment was gone.

Then I realized what I should have said, a question that’s been bothering me for some time: Governor Romney, what do you have against the French?