I was quietly eating my burrito when a middle-aged woman stopped by my table and said, “When are you due?”
“In two or three weeks,” I replied.
Her mouth gaped open. I knew nothing good was coming next. And I was right.
“Oh … wow … I mean … you just look … so … ready,” she stuttered.
I starred at her, burrito in hand, just waiting for this tragic moment to wrap up. I mean, what was I supposed to say? “Actually, I’m in labor right now. Glad you asked!” or “Due yesterday, just hoping this burrito reminds Baby that he is out of space.”
Nope. She deserved to let the awkwardness soak in.
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