Racey

On a sparsely crowded train, I walk past a black man sitting next to an  empty seat. He asks me, "What? You can't sit next to a brutha?"

I respond, feigning the practiced and pinched-faced indignation of any urban white liberal, "Well, if that was the case, sir, then I could never sit next to my husband. Hmph!"

In reality, I have no husband, black or otherwise. I just don't want to point out that this man appears to have wet himself. Somehow the lie seems less hurtful.