Jeff and Margo enter their hotel room, which is elegant by any standard. “Wow” says Margo, eyeing the beautiful bed with muted linens and the beige couch, both looking soft as clouds. “How did we rate this?”
“Dan’s new secretary Helen set it up for us. She said the only way to travel in India is first class. I believe her exact words were “It’s not a good place to play the “travel like the locals” game.” Otherwise, you’ll be spending all of our time on the toilet.”
“Well, I’m getting to that point anyhow.”
“She didn’t think a pregnant gal needed more trips to the bathroom. So, for not much more than a Courtyard by Marriott in the states, we get this,” says Jeff with a sweep of his hand. Eyeing the mini-bar, he thinks they can be pretty comfortable here for quite a long time.
Margo immediately takes a shower and plops into the bed, ignoring the ginger ale Jeff poured for her in a champagne flute. By the time Jeff gets out of his shower, Margo is as quiet as a Buddhist during prayer.
Very soon, Margo finds herself outside a door to a bar with a sign over the entry that says “CAB’s”, with a symbol of a London Cab. A sign on a tripod to the right of the door says it’s “Pump the Bump” night, all pregnant ladies enter for free. Her favorite music draws her in, like a witch’s den with a good smelling brew. After the second it takes for her eyes to adjust, she sees the bar is full of pregnant women. Wow, my tunes and my people, she thinks. Then she sees bouncers lining a dance floor, all with extra eyes on the end of tentacles to help them peer over the crowd. On the other side of the bouncers, she spies Candy dancing like nobody is watching (and the gal has some moves!) and decides to head out there to dance with her and see if she knows what on earth is going on. The place is jammed and one doesn’t really want to push pregnant women around, so Margo jumps over everyone and luckily finds a spot to land right next to Candy, crawling distance to the band. And, what a band! The lead singer looks and sounds exactly like Bob Dylan, but with an extra hand to hold and play the harmonica rather than that contraption that looked like the braces she had as a kid. The hands and legs of the drummer, whom she thinks is female, are winging around in a pinwheel cloud. Looking over the crowd, Margo see more bouncers with their hands held high, with eyes on the ends of their fingers! Wait until Beth hears they are already doing this! Jack pot! Most be a rowdy crowd to have this many bouncers!
Margo rubs bellies with Candy and Candy acts delighted to see her friend, but not wholly surprised. “I can’t believe there are so many pregnant women here!” Margo says to her friend.
“It is Pregnant Ladies night! Every Tuesday night! And who needs it more than us?“ asks Candy. “Dancing is the best exercise I get, plus, I get out of the house!”
Soon, a conga line of all pregnant women forms and Margo and Candy join right in. Young guys line the route, drinking beer, genuinely enjoying themselves. They boogie past a sign that says “Limbo contest – winner receives 1 year of Pampers”. They dance past a bathroom with an exceptionally long line of ladies; the bar should make special provisions on these nights, Margo thinks. At the end of the song, Candy grabs Margo hands and together they leap over everyone to get to the bar, like a scene from Peter Pan. Candy lands right on her mark, but Margo misses by a few feet and lands on top of a poor guy who looks about 25 years old with jeans, cowboy boots and a flannel shirt.
“Oh I am so sorry!” Margo says to him, and really means it, even though she is laughing like a a twelve year old. Then, she turns to Candy while rubbing her belly, “My aerodynamics are just way off!”
“It‘s just wonderful that you can still soar at all. If I am pregnant at your age, I hope I can soar half as high – although I hope my perch skills are a bit better than yours.”
“God! I hate being pregnant. My perch skills were nearly perfect until this baby lump threw my balance off. Just six years ago, I could soar high, fly half way to never-never land and perch perfectly. You should get all your babies out way before my age. This just sucks – for me and my landing pads.” Then, turning to the bartender, she says, “I would love a margarita, with an extra shot of Tequila because I’m drinking for two. But, I’ll have a diet coke.”
The bartenders all have 4 or more arms and manage to pour from multiple bottles into the glasses, while adding the bar soda to one glass, while shaking a martini in the other. Adding to the theme of the night, the bartenders are wearing pregnant pouches filled with their bar fruit. Reaching into the pouch with a spare hand, they pull out lemons, limes and oranges. Luckily, no cherries, Margo thinks. The bartender calls Candy by name, surprising Margo who gives her a dropped jaw look. “What, you’re a regular?”
“I started coming here last time I was pregnant,” Candy explains. “It feels good to get out and shake it up, at least until the 9th month.”
“At my age, I’ll be lucky to survive the night,” Margo responds. Then, she turns to the bartender who knows Candy and says, “I can’t believe this many guys are interested in pregnant ladies!”
“Yeah, and it is the rowdiest night in the week,” he responds.
This surprises Candy, the bar regular. “Really?”, she asks. “That seems odd.”
“No shit, mam!” He responds. “We always thought the raging hormones of the 18 and 19-year-old males were bad, but nothing like you pregnant gals! And the mix of the two groups is nasty.”
“Well, it seems calm enough now”, Margo responds. “Perhaps this is a bit older pregnant crowd tonight,” Margo adds, pointing at herself.
Chuckling, the Bartender says facetiously, “You older, classy gals are NEVER the problem!”
Margo and Candy conversation bomb into a couple of guys, including Margo’s landing pad, standing kitty corner at the bar.
“I always come here on Pregnant Ladies’ Night,” the landing site dude says. “Lots of really hot babes and excellent hunting.”
His buddy, dressed in a very similar fashion, but with a different plaid on his shirt and larger belt buckle responds, “Yeah, a house full of great tits, just like you promised. But isn’t it like fucking a beach ball.”
“No, more like a baby elephant.”
“You figure that out on your safari?”
“No, the mother elephants wouldn’t let you close. But I can use my imagination. The best part here is you can’t get them pregnant.”
“I don’t think you can get a baby elephant pregnant, either.”
The landing post scans the room, “And the young ones are exceptionally horny.”
Margo’s had enough and decides she must defend her people. She interrupts, “Hey, we older bitches can still show you a trick or two.”
The landing pad, Mr. little buckle, gives Margo his most disgusted look and turns to his friend, “Man stay away from the old, skanky ones. They’re dangerous.”
That was uncalled for! Margo thinks and goes ballistic, “I can deball you faster than a well-hung Doberman, you jerkass.” Both Candy and Margo righteously stomp in front of the flannelled barguys, game on.
“And you know she is not kidding, you, you baby elephant fucker!” Candy says, as she picks up a chair and smashes it over large buckled dude’s head.
“Oh shit. Clear the bar!” yells Candy’s bartender.
A second bartender jumps up on the bar with bottles and shot glasses in all hands, and yells, “Let’s rumble. Doubles for all the pregnant ladies on the house!”
Next thing Margo knows, someone is gently shaking her. She wonders if she’s been knocked out. Slowly, she begins to focus on a voice.
“Honey, who you calling a jerkass?” Jeff asks her.
Margo opens her eyes and looks around the room, slowly remembering where she is. “How many days before I can have a margarita?” she asks her husband.
“It’s not happening today. Time to wake up, get up, and soldier on. You’ve slept for 14 hours straight and you have two hours to clear out the jerk asses, talk to your children, get dressed and grab breakfast before Mirza picks us up.“