Commuter Courtesy

I have had two ideas in my head for a while.  The first is Sunday dinner and the second is Karaoke Brunch.

I tried to set up my very first Karaoke Brunch today.  It was a spur of the moment thing and it was a party of two.  JK and I.  The notice was too short.  And I have been having very bad luck with putting together social outings of late.  But hey, for an only child a party of two is a par-tay.

We met at Craft Bar.  Had brunch and then relocated to bellow out some songs.  We drove people out of the bar.  I felt a little bit bad about this.  But what can you do.  If you go to a karaoke bar for drinks, it's likely that you will be surrounded by people who sing.  If you want drinks without karaoke, go to a different kind of bar.  Wine bar, Sports bar, Dive bar, Tapas bar.  Really the options are endless.

And because JK is on the verge of a juice fast she was plotting her last meal pre-fast.  She wanted to go to the Bobwhite Lunch and Supper Counter.  It was delicious.  Their fried chicken is quite good.  The sides are also very good.  The staff was friendly and cool.  The tunes were good.

Then we got dessert.  Pecan Pie Bread pudding with a salted caramel sauce and whipped cream topping.  It was so good.  But I was stuffed to the gills by this point.

We walked a bit, stomachs uncomfortably full - to the point of bursting.

I got on a very crowded F train and a woman insisted that I take her seat.  "I can tell that you're pregnant," she said, so very kindly.  I was mortified and too embarrassed to confess the truth.  That it's a biological impossibility.  That I have not been visited by an angel, a swan, or a bull.  I mean it's possible that she knows something that I don't and I am carrying some immaculately conceived human inside me.  But Occam's razor suggest that it's more likely that I am carrying the result of eating too much food in a seven hour period.

This is the third time someone has offered me their seat on the train in the past week.  I was puzzled at this but had no idea that it was because of my big belly.  Mortifying.  I texted JK about this and her reply was "You are giving birth to a chicken baby!"  My friends.  So supportive.

So I need to: 

1. stop wearing miniskirts and the like

2. start wearing mumus

3. exercise

4. diet

5. stop eating fried chicken

6. make a t-shirt with a circle around my belly that is labelled "Not a Baby"

And hang my head in shame.  When I got up from my seat to exit the train, I put my hand on my back and leaned back a little bit to try to keep up the pretense of a pregnancy.  I should have just confessed to my sins.

Alternately, I could eat more fried chicken ("I'm eating for two.") and be unscrupulous.  See if people will also let me cut in line.  "Move aside people, pregnant lady coming through!"  See if I can consistently get people to offer me their seat on the train or the bus.  See if people will help me carry heavy things up the subway steps.