The scene:  My parents’ annual Christmas buffet.  I am on the porch, seated across from the woman we’ll call “Nervous Newlywed.”  She is balancing a plastic plate of food on her lap, glancing nervously over her shoulder through the sliding glass door at the party in progress.

Nervous Newlywed:   Where’s my husband?

Me:  Inside.  I believe.

NN:  I don’t like the ratio of men to women at this party.

Me:  Uh.  Most of the women are old.  Or spoken for.

NN:  I know a lot of women that speak who are spoken for.