Does baby want ice cream?


Well, I had the most awkward and embarrassing experience the other night. Rather, I shouldn’t say “the most” or even “I”, because it wasn’t even a small percentage as awkward or embarrassing for me as it was for my girlfriend, who was, after all, the one who was mistaken for being pregnant.

This was actually the second time this has happened to her in as many weeks, although she was able to shrug off the first incident because the previous person was a priest and wasn’t supposed to know anything about women’s bodies anyway. But the other night, we went out for Thai food and then decided, after some deliberation, to get dessert at the new ice cream shop next door. On one hand, we were both pretty full already, but on the other, on our only other visit, the service had been friendly and the ice cream had been delicious. When we walked in, the rotund proprietor inquired in a jovial tone, “Does baby want ice cream?”

“What?” asked my bewildered girlfriend, staring at me in confusion. I stared back blankly.

“… Does baby … want …?” the poor schmuck repeated, his face falling in horrified realization of his error.

My girlfriend continued staring at me. I could see realization beginning to poke its way through her bafflement. I mentally ran through my options for this particular situation, which, as far as I could see, were as follows:

  1. Wink at him and say, “Yes, I do want ice cream, darling!”
  2. Shout, “How dare you? I am not pregnant! Men can’t even have babies, you ignoramus!”
  3. Remain frozen there, stricken in silent horror and pray for a gang of robbers to provide a distraction by suddenly bursting in and holding up the store.

I chose the third option, as well as a waffle cone of double fudge brownie ice cream. My girlfriend chose to slink out of the store, then wake up early the next morning and go running.

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