The men in my family lose their ability to wait in line at the age of forty-five.  I remember my grandfather, as we were getting ready to go to Disney World, almost losing his nerve and bickering with my grandmother.  “The lines, Mary Alice,” he said in urgent tones, “Think of the lines!” Later, my father came to visit me in Kentucky.  At what was supposed to be a quick trip to the grocery store, we waited at the meat counter for the lady to slice pastrami.  But we were in Kentucky and in Kentucky, a trip to the grocery store is a chance to become acquainted.  At length. Twenty…