Scene from the grocery store last week:
Grocery Bagger (lady probably in mid-60's): When are you due?
GB: You have a long ways to go!
Me: (Trying to discern whether this is a dig at the size of my belly) I guess so.
GB: What are you having? A boy or a girl?
Me: Well, we're not going to find out. We want to be surprised.
GB: WHAT? Why aren't you going to find out? Nobody's going to throw you a baby shower if you don't know because they won't know what to get you!
Me: (flustered) Um, I guess they'll have to stick with green and yellow. (Faint smile, look away in pathetic attempt to change the subject.)
GB: Turn around.
GB: Turn. Around.
Me: (completely flustered) O....kay. (Turns around.)
GB: I can't tell you're pregnant from the back. So you're having a boy.
Grocery checker: No, she's having a girl.
Me: (silent. Wishing had bought less stuff.)
Bagger: No, boy. I can't tell from the back. So, boy.
Checker: No, her neck isn't dark. Your neck gets dark if you're having a boy, so she's having a girl.
Me: (committing faces of checker and bagger to memory so as to avoid this particular line in future) Well, I guess we'll find out in October.
Checker: Would you like help out to your car?
Me: NO. No thank you. No. Thanks.
Bagger: Have a nice day!
Me: Thank you.
Coincidentally, we are rapidly running out of food at our house and I am loathe to go to the grocery store for replacements. I wonder why.