Relaxing my bladder in a bathroom stall at work last week, I overheard two women enter the restroom and have the following conversation in a humorous, flippant tone.
Girl #1: Maybe you're pregnant.
Girl #2: I am not pregnant. If I were pregnant, I would be suicidal.
It's a good thing I was anchored to the toilet seat by a healthy stream of urine or I may just have given Girl #2 what for.
I get that pregnancy isn't the ultimate prize for most women like it was once for me. Heck, for the millions of women out there who devour a daily birth control pill, pregnancy is to be avoided like the plague.
I try to be sensitive to others' worlds while I am completely engrossed in my own.
Still, it doesn't change the fact that I peed on my favorite high heels because I dashed out of the bathroom as fast as I could so I wouldn't have the opportunity to learn the identity of Girl #2 and be forced to defend my honor and the honor of all infertile women by challenging her to a dual behind the maple trees after work on Friday.
Poor high heels.