My Mom met the mailman as he came up our steps and took the mail. He asked "Do you know the Bakers on 99th Street?" Apparently, he needed the exact house number. She replied "Oh yeah. Schneibergs". He looked befuddled, shook his head in wonder, and walked away. I nearly wet my pants in hysterics. Schneibergs owned the local bakery. I had to explain the whole thing to Mom.

I have had frequent giggling fits on public transportation which usually landed me a seat if not a car all by myself. There seams to be a point of no return. Cross the line and there is no hope to stop the laughing.

My most recent and probably most embarrassing was a fit of giggles brought on in the middle of a concert by a strange man turning around, ogling my breasts and scratching his butt by way of a hand down the neck of his shirt. My nephew escorted me out with tears running down my face. He swore that everyone thought I was crying but he was just trying to be nice. I emailed the organizer to apologize but she didn't respond. The fact that it was in an echoing church didn't help. I have been grateful ever since for Bill Staines' professionalism. Or maybe he thought I was crying.