It was an impromptu visit to Turtle Bay after I’d caught a chill spending the day at university not wearing enough.
I asked my boyfriend to bring me some socks, tights, jumpers, blankets, anything that might revive me.
When he picked me up, I pulled the warm socks on quickly, scrambled into the tights in the car, and then put the skinny jeans back on over the top.
Then we decided to go into town for dinner.
Telling myself that black tights under jeans with pumps looked just about acceptable, I got out of the car in the state I was in, and stomped off to the restaurant, leaving my bag in the car.
As soon as I walked in and we sat down, I put my coat over my chair and went to the toilet. As usual women were loitering around the mirrors and so I squeezed my way out and went back to my seat.
No longer than three minutes later, I decided there was no way I could eat a meal with this many tight layers around my waist and with feet this uncomfortably hot. Instead of the usual excited anticipation at the thought of food, instead it filled me with dread as I imagined having to force food in to this already painfully tight waistband arrangement.
“What should I do?” I asked my boyfriend.
“Go to the loo and take them off” he replied.
“But I can’t just carry a pair of thick grey socks and tights across the restaurant?”
“Take your coat”
“Put my coat on to go to the loo!?”
“Well you’re gunna have to”
Imagining the alternative option, which would be to get up and carry my coat to the loo, which I decided was even stranger, I put the coat on, zipped it up, and confidently strode to the toilets.
I took the first available cubical and began to undress, remove the tights and socks, and re-dress. Having successfully completed this, shoving one sock into each front pocket along with the pair of tights, I then stood there for a second unsure of what to do. Could I walk into a toilet and leave again without flushing?
I decided that to keep up the appearance of behaving normally, I should flush the toilet. It felt rather odd flushing an empty toilet, but who was any wiser? It was only me that was ever going to know the truth.
So I confidently walked out, only to see the same girls standing by the mirrors as the first visit, no less than 5 minutes previously. At this moment it flickered across my mind that flushing the toilet might not have been the best option. I must admit they were much quicker to move out of the way this time as I tried to get to the sink to wash my hands… again.
“That’s much better” I said when I got back to the table, hung my coat back on the chair, sat down, and we proceeded with our meals as planned.
Afterwards, the waitress came over to take our plates, but I still had a bit to finish. She said she’d come back.
Soon after I finished my meal and, in getting ready to leave, I put my coat on.
Around 10 minutes later she returned. She hesitated at the bowl of half-eaten chips and looked at me asking “Are these done with?” I leaned back in my chair, gesturing in an exaggerated manner that I was fully satisfied and that she could safely take them away. In doing so, I began rubbing my belly, and drawing attention to it by announcing “Yes thank you, I’m completely stuffed”.
She glanced at my hand-rubbing-belly action which made me look down. Then, I suddenly realised to my horror that I had this bulging, lumpy belly that could not be explained by eating too much nor by being pregnant. At least if it was a child, it was a very peculiar shaped one.
Quickly, I announced “Oh, that’s just a pair of socks!”
The sudden realisation of what I’d just said hit me as she gave me the weirdest look I’ve ever received from a waitress in a restaurant. Not that I make a habit of getting waiting staff to give me strange looks.
I just smiled and gazed at her as if to say “That’s completely normal, do you not bring socks into restaurants in your pockets?” as she slowly stepped away.
I left the restaurant fully conscious of my new alien-baby, and lay my hands over it in an attempt to conceal it as I pushed through the crowds in the half light.
Despite my efforts, I definitely caught the eye of woman of similar age to myself who had spotted my little cover-up. I could read it in her face that she knew. She was thinking, ‘That poor woman has stuffed her coat with socks and is pretending she’s pregnant. How very, very sad…”
Geogger 