In England, I took a train out to Maldon to visit my cousin. She picked me up at the station and drove me to her house. It was a cute little cottage with appropriately low ceilings. I eyed the beams that dropped clearance to probably close to six feet, then noticed each had a tiny red Post-It attached.

My cousin giggled. "It's so you don't hit your head and hurt yourself," she said. "I want to make sure you see them."

I smiled. She clearly thought it was sweet, but I wasn't so sure. The more I thought about these idiot stickers the more insulted I felt. Did she think I was clueless? That my eyes didn't work? That I was too stupid to see these giant dark wood things stretching the length of the room, or that I was too dumb to duck?

We chatted for a while over tea and scones, and at nightfall she drove me back to the station. I told her I'd take care of her if she ever got to New York. Pick her up at the station, give her a snack, tie a towel around her neck in case she drools. "Isn't that thoughtful?" I'll giggle. "I mean, I'm sure you'll be absolutely fine but we don't want to get the carpet wet."