I was turning onto my street when I saw her, trudging along at maybe half speed. Be nice if I could move that fast, I thought.
I went through the usual gymnastics it takes to get me out of the car, and there she was at the top of my driveway. “I’m four months pregnant,” she said, “and I’m awfully hungry.”
Well, yeah, she looked about four months pregnant. I thought for a moment, then peeled off a five-spot. “Maybe this will help.”
She didn’t even bat an eye. “You can’t get anything to eat around here for less than eight.”
The audacity of “Help!” Never heard that pitch delivered quite that way before.
I handed her another fiver and went inside, on the sensible basis that I probably didn’t want her to see me unloading a trunkful of groceries.