I hadn't seen her a few weeks. We used to work together at the social service agency that I was fired from when I was pregnant with Sam. She is quite a lovely lady who speaks with a lovely accent...Irish? Scottish? I've never asked. She quit also quit the social service agency and is now working as a cashier at my local grocery store. So we have a chance to chat every once in a while.
Yesterday she met me with a loud and cheerful, "So how are your little ones?"
Good God...can't I catch a break?!?! I thought maybe she had seen it in the obituaries, since she hadn't asked me the last time I had seen her. No such luck.
I had just come from the cemetery...watering flowers and planting a purple and silver pinwheel. It's a wonder I didn't dissolve into a puddle right there in checkout lane #4. But I didn't. I held it together and gave her the Cliff's Notes version..."We just have the one." Then there was that awkward moment where the confusion crossed her face and the realization dawned on her. Bless her heart, she said, "Oh, I'm so sorry...me and my big mouth." This was, of course, followed by the obligatory, "It's ok, you didn't know," and the veiled attempt at concealing both our embarassment with conversation about Sam and Steve.
Can this be it? Can this PLEASE be the LAST person I have to tell?
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