Three of us on the Monday morning elevator, going down: hot young suit with slicked back hair reading the Wall Street Journal, my 7-year old sporting a milk mustache and pulling on her coat, pajama-clad bus stop escort (me).
"What if my head keeps hurting?"
"Just call me."
"What if my ear hurts again?"
"Call my cell and I'll come get you."
"What if I don't want to go on my play date?"
"Then I'll pick you up. Just call."
"What if I just don't want to be at school?"
"Then call me and we can talk about it."
Long pause. Suit looks up and asks, "Hey. Can I get that number, too?"
