A little lie wouldn't kill me, would it?

The past week I have been asked several times if I live alone. Neither one was in an obnoxious way or an invasion of privacy, but I miss not being able to say: Yes, yes, I do live alone.

I could lie, of course, but never would. I can't lie to anyone.

I was accosted once in an airport in Greensboro, N.C., by a very drunk woman. I was living alone and had just begun to use a wheelchair for distances and my flight was delayed.

She tried to show she was down with the disabled by telling me she knew "Christopher Reeves." I imagined that a friend would know his name was "Reeve" but whatever.

She asked me to write down my disability. I did, and it was one of the only times my poor handwriting came in handy. She thought I was screwing with her, but I was able to say, rather indignantly, No, I wrote FA; that is my disability.

She also told me I would be cured and got pissed at me when I turned my face so she couldn't kiss me on the lips. I told her that even my mom had to just kiss me on the cheek, and she pointed out that she was not my mother. All together now: EEEEEEWWWWWWWWW.

I would like to think that I allowed this to happen because I was young and insecure. Nowadays, I tell myself, I'd grab the first airport guard and demand she get sent to Gitmo. That, of course, is a lie. Now, I am just old and insecure.

I would like to live alone again, but soon I will move in with my little sister and her family. The good part: My sister will probably take me to airports and she would totally kick that woman's ass.