Posted by: Moxie | February 6, 2011

Why pregnant women aren’t known for their sympathy

So we were out at a bar tonight.  A packed bar.  A bar packed with twenty-something year olds, leaning in close to make flirty conversation.  A bar full of people who applied makeup and selected an outfit and checked their hair.  Shocking, that in the bar of likely several hundred other people, I was the only visibly pregnant one.

And after a tall glass of water (to wash down the two sprites I’d had with dinner), it was time to find the ladies room.  Tucked in a corner of a hallway, a hallway now mostly full of empty kegs, it was a bit of challenge to make it to the desired space.  The men’s room was moving at a steady efficiency, which meant that the men had to sidle single-file along the ever-lengthening line of women who were fidgeting agitatedly as they crept closer and closer to the head of the line.   The women who cared little for social decorum or who had to relieve themselves quite badly or who identify somewhere off the binary gender spectrum, kept making breaks for the men’s room but savvy staff members continued to try to herd them into their socially confined space.

The wails behind me grew as two members of my line became more and more desperate.  They kept tussling with woman directly behind me, pleading with her to let them advance in front of her.  I kept my eyes firmly forward.  Not that I couldn’t have waited a few more minutes, but more for the principle of the thing.  And they were drunk.  And you know what’s never funny to someone who’s put back two sprites and a water?  A drunk person trying to get something.

After finally reaching the promised land, I took my own sweet time to complete my task.  Partly because it’s hard to rush when you can’t really turn around in the stall and partly to make sure that Tiny Black Dress (TBD) and Boobs All Over (BAO) would be really ready by the time they reached a stall.  TBD raised the volume and the hyperbole more as she started to shout, “You have to let me pee now.  I have to pee so badly.  I’m nine months pregnant and I’m ready to give birth.  Here feel this.  Oh my god, you have to let me pee now.  I’m so pregnant.”

From inside my tiny little sanctum I shot her a fierce glare.  How.  Dare.  She.  Pregnant women have a few things going for them–seats on the bus, smiles from strangers, and advancement to the front of the pee line.  In between we have the inability to rise out of seats on the bus, people calling us “ginormous” and the need to urinate every 7.2 seconds.  How dare she invoke the sacred code of preggos peeing first?  What has this society come too?  What’s next?  22 year olds asking for the senior discount at the movies?  Men getting on the lifeboats before the women and children?  Complete and utter destruction of the fabric of our society?  Nationalized healthcare?  (Oh wait, I like that one).

I walked out, slowly, to the sink area.  LBD stood there in her size two sequined dress, gesticulating wildly, imploring those attempting to relieve themselves to “PEE FASTER.  PEE FASTER.  OH MY GOD YOU HAVE TO PEE FASTER.”  I stared at her, my protruding belly unable to be hidden and said, “You know, if you’d pay attention, you’d see that the stall in the back is open.”


And this is what I thought right then, “I should have made her wait longer.”



  1. I feel like an old curmudgeon saying this but I have little patience for twenty-somethings as a whole, especially drunk twenty-somethings. I hope she peed just a little bit in her knickers before she got to the stall.

  2. Tell me about it! I know all about this!

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