The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Weekly Wacko (2)

My junior and senior years of high school I consistently volunteered at a Youth Center at Hunter Army Airfield. I worked with elementary school kids, helping them to figure out their homework, or if they didn’t have any they would have me touch the ceiling (my lanky 6′3 frame was an easy source of amusement).

One of the employees at the Youth Center was Miss Grant. Miss Grant enjoyed having me around, and she was (as well as the other folks who worked there) great to work with. One day Miss Grant came up to me after I’d been helping some kids for a while.

“Well?,” she said, with a heavy dose of expectation on that word.

“Uh …,” I said, not sure what I’d missed.

She stared me down for a while, “aren’t you going to congratulate me?,” she finally said, again with the implication that I should be ashamed I hadn’t said anything first.

“Uh …,” I said, no less confused than before, but now feeling guilty.

She rubbed her belly.

“Uhhh …,” again, still unsure, but the way she rubbed her belly could only mean one thing, “you’re … you’re pregnant?! Congratulations!”

Trapped.

“WHAT?! I’m pregnant!?!”

Terror, fear, horror, guilt, worry.

“How dare you say I’m pregnant! I know I could lose some weight but -”

Then, she cracked up.

“That was fun,” she said, smiling, and walked away.

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