‘Oh, you’re the autistic one,’ beamed the elderly lady I was introduced to by my parents.
Silence and awkward glances round the restaurant table.
‘Pardon?’ I replied, frantically flicking through my mental guide to etiquette.
‘I’ve heard all about you. You’re the autistic one.’
‘Well, not particularly,’ came my reply. It seemed like the option least likely to cause a palaver.
Then it clicked. She thought I was an ortist. She thought I liked ort. She simply had a funny accent.