When you’re enormously pregnant like me, there is a whole team of watchdogs who like to remind you when you’ve made an unhealthy choice.
And it’s because of those jackasses that I have an almost irrepressible urge to put on a hugely inappropriate pregnancy production. One where I run into the liquor store on a Friday night during rush hour and start twerking and yelling, “Let’s get loaded!”
Luckily, I haven’t had to resort to such a display. Nope. I haven’t had to do that, because the universe put together a real-life inappropriate production before I could even stage one. How’s that for karma biting you in the ass before you even bend over?
The other night, a friend and I made plans to go to the theatah. (That’s fancy talk for theatre). I picked her up beforehand for dinner. When she got in the car, she asked me to put a little pile of her stuff in my purse. I agreed, and she handed me her things. Among the pile was lip gloss, her bank card and a pack of cigarettes. She managed to tuck her cell phone into a tiny pocket in her dress.
“I am not harbouring these,” I said with disgust as I dangled the pack of cigarettes between my pinched fingers before dropping it in her lap.
“Please?” she begged. “There’s no room in my pocket and I don’t have a purse to go with this dress.”
“OH POOR YOU!” I said in my best Livia Soprano voice. “Do you know how bad it looks for a pregnant woman to have cigarettes on her person? Roll them up in your sleeve or something… like they did in the 50s,” I suggested.
She gestured to her adorable, sleeveless sundress and made a sad face even Livia couldn’t resist.
“Fine,” I said begrudgingly, and gave in.
She tossed the smokes in my lap and they landed with the picture side up. There was a stringent warning about second hand smoke and a giant pregnant belly with big man hands on it. I groaned and we drove away.
We decided to eat at the restaurant at the theatre because we were running late. She went in to get our tickets, and I went to park the car. I couldn’t find her when I got inside, so I figured I would text her. As I reached into my purse to get my phone, a woman I used to work with came along. We exchanged cordial greetings and she acknowledged my ‘condition.’
Now, normally when I’m having a real-life conversation with someone, I don’t whip out my phone. But, my hand was already in full momentum reaching into my purse, and I couldn’t stop it. Just as my former colleague squealed, “You’re having another baby?!” I pulled my phone out of the pocket in my purse.
The pocket must have been over stuffed because out flew the pack of cigarettes along with my phone. It landed on the floor between us with the picture/warning face up. My former colleague went silent. I scrambled a bit and blurted, “Those aren’t mine. I’m just holding them for a friend.”
I’m too fat (and lazy) to bend down these days, so I decided to try to flip the pack of cigarettes up with my foot like I was playing hacky sack. Miraculously, I got it onto my foot and then into the air. Then my co-ordination showed its true colours, because when tried to catch the pack of cigarettes, it ricocheted off my fingers and hit a man square in the back of his freshly pressed Dockers.
I’m pretty sure the man was one of those watch dog types I was talking about, because his eyes widened and his nostrils flared when he saw what I was (pregnant) and what I dropped (smokes). Instead of just ending it there and running away like a civilized person, I yelled, “Anybody wanna play hacky smokes!?”
Nobody laughed. NOBODY. Well that’s a lie. One person laughed.
I’m not sure if it was out of embarrassment or if I was just so thrilled I got to live out my dream of putting on an inappropriate pregnancy production. Either way, I started laughing my head off. My former colleague said she really had to go…blah, blah, blah. I said, “Sure, but would you mind picking up my smokes for me? I’m too pregnant to bend.”
She picked up the cigarettes and handed them to me as the Dockers man shook his head in disapproval.
Everyone dispersed and I let the combination of embarrassment and delight wash over me. I spotted my friend and ran over to tell her the story. (And by ‘ran over’ I mean hobbled).
I have to say…daydreaming about staging such a charade is one thing…but holy hacky smokes, it’s pretty frigging satisfying when your dreams actually come true.