Happy Birthday, you don't have a uterus

I was standing in line at the grocery store in Driggs, Idaho last weekend. In front of me was a gaggle of high schoolers with trendy little feathers in their hair and way too much flirtatious energy. (Enter: the boy bagging groceries and all of the sudden the whispers and giggles couldn't be contained). They asked the woman checking their groceries if she could sing Happy Birthday to Kevin over the intercom in the store. The woman, probably in her late fifties, with lipstick all over her teeth and without even cracking a smile said, "Sure," and picked up her phone and began to sing over the loud speaker.

I was surprised when she agreed, but I was even more surprised when I heard her sing. Her crackly, monotonous voice boomed throughout the grocery store. And she didn't rush through it either. She took her time with every note of her atonal rendition.

She put down the phone like it was no big deal and continued checking the girl's groceries. Without looking up she asked, "Who's Kevin?"

"Oh I am," one of the girls replied.

"Your names is Kevin?" She asked, now looking up from the scanner.

"You know the movie Up?" another girl butted in, "She can make the sound that Kevin the bird makes."

"Well let's here it!" (I thought it was a fair request, seeing as she had sung Happy Birthday for Kevin).

The girl does it. And I thought, that was the weirdest series of events taken place over a check-stand ever.

Then I get up there.

I by a box of feminine hygiene products and the woman says, "I'm so glad I don't have to deal with this anymore. I had a hysterectomy when I was 24." Then she clasped her hands together, looked up and whispered, "Thank you!"

I wanted to say, "Why in the world did you just tell me that?" How would you respond?

"Oh! Good for you! How many children do you have?" Or maybe, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday you don't have a uterus, happy birthday to you!"