“I’ll bet this taxi ride we’re having a boy,” I replied without thinking
W
e were in a new Mercedes taxi. Great AC, smooth suspension, and it even smelled nice. But none of that was important to me; I was too nervous. The meter, usually the subject of extravagant attention, ticked away unnoticed.
We were on the way to Shaare Zedek. My wife was in labor, and nothing else mattered.
The nahag, of course, was completely unimpressed.
“Do you know what you’re having?” he asked me, in Hebrew.
“A baby,” I replied.
“B’emet?”
We shared a chuckle.
“But do you know if it’s a ben or bat?”
“It’ll be a boy,” I said with all the self-confidence of a soon-to-be father. “At least, we think so.”
The driver merged into traffic with his eyes fixed on us in the rearview mirror. “Lo nira li,” he announced. “I think you’re having a girl.”
“I’ll bet this taxi ride we’re having a boy,” I replied without thinking.
“Well,” he said, “what do I get if it’s a girl?”
“I’ll pay you double,” I said vaguely.
