It was only 7:30 am but already I was in a foul mood.
I was running late for work. My coffee maker was doing that thing again. I'd changed my outfit three times and still didn't like what I was wearing. And it was raining, hard. My shoes were soaked from my five-block walk to the carpool pick-up spot.
I was drenched from the knees down by the time I climbed into the front seat of a mini-van. The driver -- a kind-faced, 50-something year old woman -- was dressed all in shades of vibrant blue, from her earrings down to her tennis shoes. She was like a Caribbean sea in human form. But instead of warming from her glow, I recoiled further under my dark cloud.
As we inched through the traffic on 580, the driver hummed along to a song on the radio. Something light and poppy, inane. I thought, "How can she be so damn cheerful?"
And then I noticed the directions mapped out on her phone, and realized that she was on her way to the Breast Health Center.