"I went sailing around Lake Michigan," my mother says in reply to my father as we drive past the East River up the FDR.
"How did that happen?" I ask.
"Before I met your father, when I lived in Chicago, I was seeing a man who owned a fleet of sailboats, and he took me sailing one weekend," she says.
When I ask for clarification on her use of the word "fleet," she adds, "Oh yes, he was the man who gave me my pet ocelot named Karma."