Tonight, I received the second marriage proposal of my life—the first being from a fat guy at the end of the bar when he found out I could tie a cherry stem into a knot with my tongue. Tonight's proposal came courtesy of my cab driver, who is from Ghana. Our conversation (after he marveled at how nice Brooklyn was, and asked me where I was from, and commented on how China was going to do better than Japan because everything seems to be made in China these days) wound up as follows:
Cabbie: So do you have kids?
Me: No. Not yet.
Cabbie: But you're married, right?
Me: No.
Cabbie [gasping]: Why not?
Me: Why should I be?
Cabbie: You know, American men aren't honest, and they don't understand how important it is to be married.
Me: Err, I guess so.
Cabbie: You should be married! Life is short.
Me: That's exactly why I'm not married.
Cabbie: Marry me.
Me: I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much. [OK, so I lied. It's a stock fib.]
Cabbie: I'm happy to hear you have a boyfriend. [He repeats this several times.]
Me: Well, good night.
Cabbie: I hope the next time I see you, you're pregnant.