So I finally did it. I was finally desperate enough, and late enough, and probably pissed off enough, to park in one of the spaces at the grocery store reserved for "expectant mothers and mothers with small children."
The parking lot was full, but there were FIVE of these spaces available. I needed one. I was in a bind, and was after all buying emergency supplies for a BABY party, so maybe that gave me some parking space cred, I thought. I'd only be in the store for five minutes, so unless the Osmond family caravan pulled up outside, what were the chances that a pregnant woman or mom hauling quintuplets would have to park a mile away? Nada. So I pulled in, therefore rendering it a "space reserved for a stressed out, running late single woman who is here buying matching "it's a girl" and "it's a boy" balloons because the original "boy" one popped, leaving one twin in the cold, and who occasionally contemplates freezing her own eggs, so cut her some slack will you?"
Still, when I got out of the car (and this is the most ridiculous part, and therefore the most true to life, so pay close attention) I kind of fluffed my coat out, daring anyone to notice that despite my usual - ahem - tummy bulge, I was not, for sure and for certain, packing a fetus. New lows at lunch hour in suburbia, folks - but I'd do it again, no question.
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