He was a fifth grader stationed there only to hold the door but saw me sitting outside the cafeteria and struck up a conversation about his latest feat of shooting (and then eating) a squirrel. He was a delightful child with sweet manners and disposition. He paused in his recollection of his adventure to ask me, "Do you hunt?" He started to shake his head like it was silly of him to have asked a woman if she hunts, but then he said, "No, really, do you?"
"No," I replied with a smile. "I don't hunt."
"Does your husband hunt?" he questioned back.
"I don't have one of those," I replied again with a smile.
"You're not married?" he asked with an element of surprise that I ascribe to his disbelief that a woman of my age could possibly still be single.
"No, I'm not married."
"Not yet, you mean," he said correctingly.
His optimism far outreaches my own on that topic, but just for the day, I let that phrase roll through my mind with hope.