I was pepper sprayed last night. It's not as glamorous as it sounds, it's just bound to happen when you hang with the kind of rowdy people I associate with. And when I say I was pepper sprayed? I mean somebody not far from me was pepper sprayed and the table my friends and I were sitting at happened to be in the crossfire. My girlfriend realized it first and ushered me and another pregnant girl away. I coughed a few times and that was the worst of it. For me at least- others at the table were really burning, and I imagine the guy who got pepper sprayed was hurting. I hope he really deserved it because she also sprayed our cheesecake (that I stupidly left behind when I was ushered away).
When I recounted all of this to my mom she couldn't believe I returned and ate my cheesecake (that may or may not have been mildly sprayed). I had to stop and consider that for a moment because it really never occurred to me NOT to eat the cheesecake. My mom clearly does not remember being pregnant*.
You are probably surprised this post wasn't peppered with puns. I'm rising above all that. Let's just spray this doesn't happen again. Really, spraying that stuff in a restaurant is beyond attacky, don't you think? But I do take this as a sign that if I have a boy this time, his name should most definitely be Mason. And for a girl? Pepper.
*Anyone who knows me knows that is a pitiful excuse; I would have mowed down that cheesecake, pregnancy or no.