“Hey, man, I wanna talk to you. Why would you say that about my wife?”
In a situation like this it was best to go on the offense.
“Thing is, point blank, your wife looks pregnant and I feel it’s my responsibility as a bartender to not serve anyone who is. It’s not an easy question to ask someone, but I’d rather be an asshole and ask than to risk harm to some unborn baby.”
“Oh. All right. I guess thanks fer lookin’ out fer us.”
Then I went too far.
“And I’ve gotta say, that shirt she’s wearing just makes her look…” And I couldn’t even finish. I knew there was nothing I could say from that instant on that could reverse the tsunami of awkwardness. The same tidal-force that would lead her to shredding and burning the blouse then snuffing the fire with her sobby tears.
Update: Leigh emailed me this pic a while back, but I’m just now getting to uploading it. This isn’t the exact top, but it’ll help give you an idea why I thought the girl was pregnant.
