I was indulging in one of my favorite meals, lobster fettucini, at Wash Park Grille when my former bar neighbor came in to complain that someone with a minivan had backed into his car. He asked the bartender if he knew anyone with a minivan and then turned to me and asked me whether I owned a minivan. Of course, I’ve been waiting all my life to respond “Do I look like someone who drives a fucking minivan?” He left sheepishly. Wholly satisfactory but it got me to thinking, what else could I have said? (the French have a marvelous term for this - L’esprit de l’escalier - the spirit of the staircase - what you should have said in response to an insult but too late). I didn’t think I did too bad but a number of responses did occur to me, my favorite of which is “The only way I’d drive a minivan is if I carjacked one after a bank robbery.”