I am mortified. Because I experienced first-hand a phenomenon that occurs at least once in every woman's life, and in my opinion, at my sprightly 19 years it came all too soon...
Let me explain. No, let me. Please. It occurred last weekend (yes, I know; but as a woman I waive the right to simmer about this for any period of time between a week and Oblivion) when Etnad and I trawled up to quaint little Gillingham to acquire his new car, a shiny new Nissan 100NX (named Lynx because of its acronymous license plate).
Obviously Etnad couldn't drive the car back, the insurance not having kicked in until his 19th birthday last Sunday, so we bought along Jeff (Etnad Senior) to drive it back. I came along for the ride too, mainly to inspect the car and provide a feminine aspect to the discussion of aesthetics and machinery ("Oooh, look at the shiny redness"). I was wearing one of those nice, billowy smock tops that appears to be a la mode, and it was rather windy so my top kept billowing up.
It wasn't until the friendly dealer (himself a Devonshire dumpling, much like Jeff, Etnad and to some extent myself) extended a hand for us all to shake, and I said "We've bought the family along" indicating the presence of Father, Son and Son's Girlfriend, did the dealer say "So, when are you due then? Soon?"
Of course, had my wits and intellect not just gone crashing out of my backside, I would have said "Oh, not for another SIX YEARS." However, I merely twittered, "Er...no?" while my gallant other half in an attempt to stop himself laughing out loud had rammed his arm wrist-deep into his mouth.
So there you have it. Of course, I do hope this means that when I eventually do become ridiculously fat, someone will not ask "Aww. Good luck with the baby."