Back in Amsterdam – my mother is still craving ice cream.
On the way to the hospital a taxi driver asked me: “Do you work in the hospital?”

I was tired – I answered: “Yes.”

“What kind of doctor are you?” he wanted to know.

“A cardiologist,” I answered.

There was no way back, for 15 minutes I had to talk about my “profession”.

(Some of the commenters on this site sent my mother postcards. They are hanging on the wall in her hospital room.)