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It always annoyed me how men treated me when I was pregnant. They'd see my enormous bump coming toward them, and they'd get all panicky and wild-eyed, as though they were worried that if they acknowledged my presence in any way, even by doing something nice like holding open a door or giving up a seat in a crowded waiting room, I'd slap them with a paternity suit.

George, however, was treated as though he'd done something truly extraordinary in knocking me up. Whenever we were out together, the men would stare at me like I was some sort of freak show exhibit ("What is wrong with you people?" I wanted to shout. "Have you never before seen a pregnant woman? And, no, I am not having twins, do don't you dare ask me that!"). But then they'd nod approvingly or wink slyly at George.

See? Annoying.

So, after awhile, whenever someone asked George if he was getting excited about the upcoming birth, I'd chirp in, "Yes, he is! Especially since there's an 81% chance he's the father."

And then I'd laugh like hell. No matter how many times I told the joke, it never failed to crack me up.

"Please stop saying that to people," my ever-patient husband would say.

"Why? Don't you think it's funny?" I'd ask.

"No, not really."

"Don't you get the joke?"

"I get it. I just don't think it's funny. And I don't think my parents thought it was funny, either. Or my boss," George said. "And, really, honey, I don't think the waitress even knew that you were joking."

Posted 03 October 2005 at 02:45 PM