My recent world has been all about magical dyads.
The marriage of X and Y chromosomes.
Dates and walnuts.
And, with the holiday season upon us, mint and chocolate.
Yesterday, I went to the grocery store and bought myself a jar of pickles. It was the only item in my cart. And I felt like the quintessential preggo-stereotype.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a spotlight shining directly on the jar-in-question as I tried to fast-and-furious my way through the check-out line. It bothered me.
Probably because I don’t like to conform.