Enlightenment on the subway. I've always thought that, if I were a black person, say, I would just go around, boldly, into places that don't see a lot of black people. And if anyone said anything nasty, or gave me dirty looks, well then, why would I care what a racist thinks?

Today on the ride home I found myself feeling sheepish, because I was carrying home the dry-cleaning I took in earlier for Marjorie, which included a nice flowery dress. I even kind of folded it so that it wasn't so visible.

It dawned on me. What a hypocrite I am!

There are a lot of attitudes out here that I would consider sexist, and for some reason I was worried that some of these guys would see me as -- I don't know, not wearing the pants in the relationship? Just because I was so obviously doing something laundry-related for my wife. It's not like I was even doing the laundry; I was just a courier.

If I care so much about what sexist people think, what makes me think I would be so casual about racism?

Deep, huh. Riding mass transit gives you lots of time to think.