There was some good karma going on at the mall this weekend. I’d gone to the mall to idly poke around the only store I can still shop in—a maternity store, the only one at the mall—and had left empty-handed, dissatisfied with the sales going on. With only two months to go, it’s hard to justify buying more maternity clothes. About thirty feet from the store, I was stopped by a woman holding a baby. “Would you like a gift certificate to that store?” she asked. I looked at her skeptically, ready to give a polite refusal, sure it was a ruse of some kind. But she quickly explained that she’d gotten a $25 gift certificate because of a class action suit of some kind and, since she herself wasn’t pregnant, thought she’d just give it to someone who was. We chatted for a while about her stroller—she was pushing the kind Andrew and I will probably buy—and then I headed back to the store, where I spent the gift certificate and then some in a fit of “I’m pregnant! I deserve to look cute! I won’t be pregnant much longer!”
So, good karmic returns to the nice woman at the mall. (That seems a very California thing to say. Sorry about that. It’s 100 degrees here—must be going to my head.)
Also, I now like my maternity wardrobe way better than my regular clothes. I’d joke that I wish I could be pregnant forever, but that’s actually not funny, or even true. Wheat toast slice count today so far: 3.