I recently had a discomfiting encounter at the theatre when, rushing for drinks during the interval, I bumped into a woman whom I knew from work years ago. She had been a compelling mix of charisma, random acts of kindness and glib cruelty. Now here she was again. “Hi,” she said, beaming. “How are you?” Like a fool, I rushed to tell her everything I had been doing.
The woman interrupted my monologue. “That’s great. I’m so happy to hear you’ve finally sorted your life out.” And off she went, leaving me speechless. I tossed and turned that night, seething and pondering what she had meant. She didn’t know anything about my life, so why had she said that?
