I need some more excuses why I am not drinking and want to fall asleep at 8.30pm. I’ve done the old ‘anti-biotics’ excuse to death. I’ve played the ‘health-kick’ card; the ‘not for me. I’m driving’ routine’.
I may have blown my cover when I refused a very nice glass of red wine and announced ‘I’ve given up drink for lent’. My colleagues exploded with laughter, knowing my blatant disinterest in all such matters. A few eyes did wander down to my belly and give me a very knowing smile. Oh I am such a pathetic liar. I feel like I’ve been ‘out’-ed. Its too much hassle and it takes too much energy to keep up my cover. ‘Ok, you bunch of piss-heads, I am as some of you have guessed – pregnant’.
Suddenly, there’s a flurry of activity. Money changes hands and there is much backslapping and congratulating Fiona who had been the first to suspect. Those bastards have been betting on my predicament for a whole fortnight. Fiona says I kept rubbing my tummy, staring into space and refused my favourite smoked salmon and cream cheese bagel on Friday. Something was up. It feels good to tell them and I get hugged, squeezed and kissed until I’m exhausted. ‘I don’t mind you lot knowing but I will murder anyone who tells Mildred the Maggot’.
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