by Myra Marcus
My son leaned across the table and looked me straight in the eye. We were having Sunday brunch at a trendy Williamsburg (Brooklyn) eatery. “Mom,” he asked, “do you have long-term care insurance?”
“No,” I replied, taken aback. “That’s only for old people.”
“Well,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “it might come in handy someday. A really faraway day, of course, but isn’t it better to start early?”
“I will take it under advisement,” I said, cringing inside. So it has come to this, I thought.