Belly Laugh Friday, October 19, 2012

( a day late – let’s pretend it’s still Friday)


As most of you know, my strange illness has given me a belly that makes me look about seven months pregnant. After so many years I have been able to find the humour both in the queries and the responses I give to the queries.  Sometimes I actually look forward to bizarre responses because they make such good stories. Belly-laugh Fridays is my chance to share these humorous tidbits with all of you. Enjoy.




Today’s tale is a conversation between myself and the manager oft the park and fly at the Buffalo airport.

“How long have you folks been waiting?”


“Are you waiting for a bus? How long have you been waiting?”

“Since the last bus drove by and told us they were full.”

She gets on the walkie-talkie, cigarette in hand.

“Who’s on lot B?” she says in a commanding voice.

There’s some crackle and a pause before a voice says, “I am.”

“There are some people waiting here at 133, Paul. They’ve been waiting a long time.”

She looks over at me and, with a wink, she says, “And there’s a pregnant lady here and she’s cranky.” She turns of the walkie-talkie and laughs.

“That will get him moving.”

Then she turns to chat with us while we wait.

“So, how far along are you?”

“Oh, about seven months.”

Her eyes widen. “They’re letting you fly at seven months?”

“Well, not quite seven months.” I backpedal nervously.

“Well, when I was pregnant I wanted to visit my mom in Florida, but once I hit my third trimester, they wouldn’t let me fly.”

She eyes me again. “Something about the pressure.”

I’m feeling like a terrible mother. Feeling guilty about my unborn baby that doesn’t exist.

“It won’t hurt the baby of course, just you. Where are you going?”


“Oh, that’s not so bad. Just drink lots of water and go to the bathroom often.”

She thinks a bit.

“And move your feet around all the time.”

“I will,” I promise, hoping she will move along as the bus approaches.

Then she spots 12 year old Zev and freezes.


Her face breaks out into a naughty smile.

“What about this age difference? Whoopsy!”

She laughs and keeps saying, “Whoopsy!” as the bus pulls up.

We clamber on and drop into the seats. “If anyone at the airport asks,” I gasp between laughs, “I’m not pregnant.”

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