I'm Trying To Eat

I overheard a couple well, one part of a couple, talking in the booth next to me at Potbelly today. They had just come from the baby doctor.

“Kaitlyn…call me back I have good news…”

“Jess… call me back, I have good news….”

The guy sits cross from her, eating his toasted sub.

The phone rings, once….

“Hi? Yes… It’s a boy. Hheehee… I know.. yyyeeah. Yyeahh.”

That’s her good news? I imagine her voice mail if it was a girl, Kaitlyn, call me back…I have something to tell you…  Jess, call me back…we have to talk…

The new mom is foil-highlight-blonde, wearing white Kswiss sneakers, and a smart knobby knit pink sweater, probably from The Buckle. She dreams of Kate Spade bags. Her husband eats sub sandwiches, wears plaid, and has XY-dominant sperm.

“I know… uh-huh.. yeah… well his mom has all brothers.. five of them.. so that’s probably where it comes from….hehehe… yeah…”

“Beck, call me back.. I have good news…”

Can’t you just say, we got our ultrasound and it’s a boy? Isn’t this a good topic for Twitter? Who is this good news for, you freaky obnoxious goodnews gatekeeper? I would be pissed if I went through all the trouble of checking voicemail and called someone back and this was all they had to say:

“Hello, yea-awh… it’s a boy…we got a CD of the ultrasound pics. You have to come over and see them.”

I hope she is talking to the adoptive parents.

The guy gets up to refill his pop. He has not let out a peep.

He is not on his phone.

“We are thinking, Michael… no middle name yet.”

“Jen… call me back..I have good news…”

“Rach…call me back..I have good news…”