So first thing every morning, as soon as her alarm rang, she would rise, wash her face, put on some comfortable clothes and walking shoes and head out the door. She would walk about a half mile, then turn around and proceed back home.
Each morning she passed a young male jogger, probably in his thirties, at the same point of her walk. He would be coming toward her, dripping with sweat, and moving at a pretty good clip. She always greeted him with a few words. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?" "How are you today?" "We'd better hurry, it looks like rain.”
Although he always looked her in the eye, he never acknowledged her by saying a word in return. His stern facial expression didn't alter and he just moved swiftly past her.
One morning, her alarm failed to go off. She woke later but left the house for her walk as soon as she could. Obviously, she met her taciturn jogger at a different spot than usual on their route. As they approached each other, before my aunt could speak her greeting, the jogger said in an accusatory voice, "You're late. I was worried about you." Never hesitating or missing a stride, he kept going right on by.