You hit the wrong note."

"Since when do you know piano keys?"

"Don't you remember how much I loved to sing?" Tommy said, as he nudged me over on the piano bench. "You'd play a song from your 'Easy Rogers and Hart,' and I'd croon, like Sinatra."

"Of c

We were sitting across the table from each other when I raised my hand to point to the morning newspaper placed in front of him. He appeared to be finished perusing it, so I said, "Honey, can you pass me that?"

My query was as familiar as if we were an old married couple sharing Cream of Wheat and prune juice with the papers. But this was no mate I was addressing, just a guy who is part of our breakfast group.

I hadn't noticed that one of the members had brought his eight-year-old son to Torah study. If I had, would the word "fucking" have come flying out of my mouth when I was expressing outrage at something the president had tweeted that morning?

Because I wanted the challenge, I accepted the organization's request. Instead of being the author interviewed about my blogs, books, or life; I would be the one asking the questions.

"I love your wrinkles," she said; the expression on her face confirming sincerity.

"I do, too," I said. At first, I was taken aback by her declaration. After all, it wasn't my haircut she was complimenting, or my outfit, but a patchwork of lines on my face that are more often reviled than admired.