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It was four in the afternoon when Chris knocked on the open door to my office. "Hey, what's up?" I greeted him.

"Andrea and I are going to a coffee house tonight, and there's a singer we think you'd like. Her name's Anya something."

"Aren't you a little old for that?" I asked.

"Coming from someone who doesn't like stereotypes, that's a little closed-minded," Chris chastised me. "You don't think middle-aged people can enjoy good music? Hell, our parents' generation practically gave birth to coffee house performance."

"Yeah, but when college professors go, people think they're trying to pick up college women. Especially professors in areas like chemistry that aren't remotely related to the arts. And especially unmarried professors like me."

"Are you suddenly worrying about what people think? That's not like you either."

Chris was more than a colleague; he was a good friend. Why else would he point out when I was wrong like this? I humored him. "Okay, why do you think I'll like her?"

...

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