D is helping his mother with computer problems (over the phone). He is the most patient person I know. But even he is starting to lose it, so I removed myself from the scene and enjoyed some watermelon in the kitchen. There is also a container of fresh pineapple in the fridge, in honor of Liz. It has not been desecrated yet.
I've been keeping track of the "twins" inquiry. Three cashiers converged on me at the grocery store and pelted me with: Any day now? One or two? You're big! I also got accosted by a pre-op trannie in the elevator yesterday who said, "Twins?"
"That's a big boy! I can tell! Hahaha!"
"You look pretty freakin' weird yourself." (I didn't say this, just thought it).
Anyway, it turns out that people have asked me if I'm having twins EVERY DAY this week except one day. I think it was Tuesday. Sometimes I get asked twice in one day. That happened on two days.
I never want to hear the word "twins" again after I am pregnant. I don't care if it refers to babies, breasts, my sisters, or the Twin Cities. Never. Ever. Again.