The little old lady walked slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly across the street. The grandpa waited impatiently for her to cross completely pass his car. "C'mon on, Rebecca," he muttered from behind the wheel. "Do you know her, Grandpa?" asked his young, earnest grandson. "No." "How do you know that's her name?" "They're all Rebecca," the grandpa said. "All little old ladies." C'mon, Rebecca. The earnest young grandson was the husband. He told me this story (of course not exactly in those words) after our first time sitting together in a car waiting for a little old lady to slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly do something. I say "something" because I don't remember what it was, though most likely the little old lady was in her car, and we were waiting for her to turn left or right, drive across the intersection, or edge into a parking spot. C'mon, Rebecca. We have maintained the husband'