Hormonal Hoax Deb Voss Quail |
I feigned a couple of contractions, or what I assumed contractions would feel like, and watched in delight as the obnoxiously long lines parted and shoppers everywhere rushed to help me through the checkout lane. I was an overly hormonal eight months pregnant, and although I'd only gained twelve pounds, as I neared the end of my first pregnancy, I looked and felt as big as a house. The cashier looked pale as she hurried to scan my items. "Your water hasn't broken yet, has it?" I replied no, but that the spasms in my belly seemed to be arriving more regularly. The manager, much to my chagrin, was called over to assist with the situation. "Do you need an ambulance? Should we call your husband?" My cover was nearly blown, so I remained calm and instructed, "Just help me to my car, I live only two minutes away." This was the only true utterance of the whole excursion. Arriving home, triumphant and giddy, I replayed the close call with the panicked manager. The embarrassment would have been horrendous if an ambulance bad been summoned! Nevertheless, that didn't stop me from trying the trick another time two weeks later at the Piggly Wiggly, when again I was cranky and staring down a long wait at the check-outs. Ultimately, the pregnancy went two and a half weeks past the due date. By then, I was driving as far as the next town, twenty minutes away, because I had worn out my "contractions" routine at every local grocer.
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