"I'm eight and a half months pregnant, and I have to pee!!"

I didn't quite finish my errands yesterday, so today I had to run out once again. Earlier in the day, for reasons incomprehensible to anyone but a developer, parts of the sidewalk and curb were being jackhammered up. (What's incomprehensible is that these were poured - and grass laid, and trees planted - before construction even began. So of course they had been damaged and needed replacing!) The noise jangled my brain and even shook loose from its matted frame one of Werner's photos. It was good to escape, if only for a short time. (If only I could have brought Phoebe with me.)

When I got home, though, I found a cement mixer truck completely blocking access to our house. There was no way at all around it, and because of all the ripped-up concrete, there was nowhere for me to park where I was. The worker operating the truck gestured that it would only be four or five minutes and insinuated that I should just wait.

At this point, driven by pure Id, I leapt out of the car (as much as a heavily pregnant woman can leap from a car, that is) and yelled (very nearly at the top of my lungs), "I'm eight and a half months pregnant AND I HAVE TO PEE!!!" The words just came out of my mouth.

In any case, my agonised plea was heard by one of the other workers, who came over and ordered the truck operator to move to let me through.

Self-respect (and Super-ego) be damned, my honesty (instinctual as it was) paid off. Mission accomplished.