This morning started off like any other Tuesday morning. Bundled up in the San Francisco chill, I walked up to my bus stop and saw the crazy lady who recently pushed me to ensure she attained the first seat available. I've seen her encounter a few close calls with the bus, as she is prone to throw herself in front of the massive beast to make it stop for her. Only this morning, her aggressive nature came back to bite her on the bum.
As expected, she made a bee-line for the doors, but instead of stepping up, she fell flat on her back and landed between the bus and the curb like a cockroach on its deathbed. Other patrons quickly lent helping hands, though there were many eye rolls and sighs as I am sure they thought the same thing I did: karma is a . . . well, you know.
Ambling onto the bus with torn pantyhose, she sat down and finished painting her face. The lady sitting next to her graciously offered me her seat. I told her I would manage, but appreciated her kindness. I said, "In five months of pregnancy, I just want to thank you for being the first to offer me your seat. If things get hairy, I might take you up on it, but for now I am fine."
As the months progress and my tummy expands, I'm tempted to tally the number of offers I get. So far, one and counting.