Hey, It Wasn't Us!

Note to self: do not discuss your future sexual exploits with the internets. No good will come of it.

On Tuesday I drove like a maniac to the airport from work. Earlier that day I made many feeble attempts to clean out my office and wrap up some loose ends. I was told the day before that the next day would be my last and the new job would start Monday (crazy stuff with funding, etc., that I won't bore you with here). Was I bit frazzled? Yes.

When I got to the airport, the husband was waiting for me to check in and then whispered, conspiratorially, that there was a family restroom nearby. I could feel the eyes of three hundred travellers watching us as we sheepishly let ourselves in. Each and every one of them knew what we were doing. And they were disgusted! Ashamed! Horrified! I'm sure of it! Hey, back off, fellow travellers! I'm trying to make a family over here!

We tried. Everything. Standing up was a no go - I'm a bit wee. The counter made me want to wretch - I could only imagine what disgusting substances might lay there, unknown, undetected, beneath my precious, princess-like bottom.

I tried things. He tried things. People knocked on the door. People talked outside the door. People raced by the door. Babies cried. There were footsteps. Coughs. Mops.

It didn't work.

All in all it was one of the least sexy experiences of my adult career of sexy experiences.

And I'm pretty damn sure that I am again NOT "carrying a bun in the oven", "with child", "expecting", "full", "up the duff", "knocked up", "down the well" or "saving face" (thank you Wiki). But I suppose stranger things have happened. Like immaculate conception.

But do read what fun others are having.