I've had this happen before, but this time I was ready. "Shouldn't I be?"
She did not answer the question but blathered on, "You were my math teacher in junior high!"
"Yep," I averred. "Forty years ago, no, forty-five years ago."
"The lady you married, Mrs. S. I had her for PE. Whatever happened to her?"
"She died seventeen years ago. Cancer. Two years of treatment, but. . ." I let the thought trail off.
"Sorry. Sometimes the treatments are as bad as the disease. I love this house!" We were standing in front of a house which is on the market.
"I am just crazy about that pool," she told me.
"Salt-water pool," I told her.
"I know. If I had this place I'd be skinny dipping in there every night."
Thanks, Lady, for putting that image into my head. Note that there are no quotation marks around that.
"My wife loves it, too. I told her we could buy it, but then we would have to move."
"Wait," the lady said. "This house was built in 2009. You just said your wife died seventeen years ago."
"Right, and right. I have remarried."
A look of disbelief flashed momentarily across her face as she held up her left hand displaying three fingers. "Three wives? You have been married three times?"
"Three wives," I replied, holding up three fingers myself.
Well, we talked on for some time, looking over the figurative railing at the waters of time that had flowed under the bridge lo, those many years ago. Then I said, "I have to ask your name."
"No problem." She told me the name by which I knew her long ago.
"Sure, I remember that little girl."
Anyway, a few more pleasantries, she made as if to leave, offered me her hand, which I took briefly. "Can I call you David?" she asked.
"Of course. You don't have to call me 'Mister,"'
"Can I call you Dave?"
"Well, then." The woman turned and walked away, not giving me the opportunity to explain that it was nothing personal. It is just that I am not Dave.