More tales from the T

Tonight's commute was pretty quiet, since Leilei is not feeling well. She has a terrible cough and cold, so isn't as bouncy and bubbly as usual.
Nonetheless, she attracted attention as she shot hair elastics around the bus.
(Did I try to stop her? Of course I did! But I am not all powerful!)
A drunken oldish guy (ok, like my age) was compelled to try to unravel our family relationships.
Him: Are they yours?
Me: Yes.
Him: No, I mean, really are they yours?
Me: Yes.
Him: You're not a foster parent?
Me: No.
Him: whoa, that's great. They're smart, huh?
Me: (wordlessly waving a sort of noncomittal mezza mezza)
Him: They're not that smart????
Me: They are smart! All my kids are smart!
Him: How many do you have????
Me: Four.
Him: What are their names? Just curious.
The girls immediately tell and spell their names, which inspires drunk guy to sing "libby libby libby on the label label label" . Libby and Leilei laugh politely.
After that, the guy gets off.

And a few stops later, Kit gets on. Much laughter and rejoicing, big family reunion. I tell Kit about the guy and his nosy questions.
We ride to the end of the line. Kids get off, I'm the last one off. The bus driver says "Miss. I'm glad he asked. Because I've been thinking for months you were a foster mother."
Since he's a nice guy, and sober, I laugh and say "no, they're my daughters, the little ones through adoption."
It turns out the bus driver also has 4 kids, all adopted, three girls and one boy. We chat a little about all our kids.

Ah, public transportation: the places you'll go, the people you'll meet . . .