“Maggie! You finally joined us.”
“May I have a jelly bean?”
“Leave the red ones for me.”
“Speaking of red, any commies ’round these parts, or did you clean the place up before I arrived?”
“No need. They all went straight down there.”
I don’t remember much of Margaret Thatcher’s time as Prime Minister; I was nine when she left office. (The fall of communism and the starvation in Russia were about the extent of my knowledge of world affairs.) But I was bemused to find out that her academic track was very similar to mine – her, a chemist, then a barrister; me, a chemical engineer, then an attorney. Now, every birthday of mine is her birthday in the next world. Have a good one, Iron Lady, and enjoy some well-deserved rest.