How are you?

Twice today, from regular, our better regular, customers. "How are you?" they ask, and then look at me meaningfully. "Things OK?" Twice. I'm paranoid now that I look as if I have cancer or some other terminal illness, "Fine" I assure them hastily...."Couldn't be better....".... I could, I could be rich or unemployed or painting or writing on a half regular basis, but this isn't what they're asking, so I play it cool and tell them I'm fine. I blame it on the haircut.