So there I am, Paradise Street Liverpool One. Having just been to see The Dark Knight Rises and despite the popcorn, hunger torments my stomach. With a vague, mattress-like feel to my gums, I decide to do my body a favour and give it some sustenance. My feet propell me towards the nearest Tesco, where I spend a few minutes hovering and staring blankly at the sandwiches, like the window of a TV shop.
A small pregnant woman stands to my right, mirroring my indecision. A few minutes go by, and I go for the Chicken Caesar wrap. It’s accompanied many a library visit and has done my stomach the honour of replenishment through the good times and the bad. A loyal and reliable companion to revision and coursework. Before moving onto the drinks section, I notice that the pregnant woman has also made a decision, but due to being vertically challenged, she cannot reach her desired item. I have two options: slink away to find a drink and a snack to accompany my glorious wrap or be a good Samaritan and give her a hand. Being the owner of a guilty conscience, not to mention a magnet for an awkward situation, I resolve to help her.
Stepping forward, I realise that she is only a rough estimate of an inch smaller than myself, so my offer of aid in this situation may not be sufficient enough to achieve success. Nevertheless, I offer her my assistance. She points to her preferred sandwich (Oak Smoked Ham and Cheddar, excellent choice). Using the small metal ledge at the bottom of the shelves, I step up to reach the sandwich. Victory is in sight as my fingers graze the wrapping, which I then manage to seize and remove from the shelf. Stepping back down to ground level, I stumble as my handbag catches on one of the shelves. As a result, I fall to my knees (which, might I add, hurts like a mother due to the enormous bruise on my right knee acquired over the weekend during my friend’s birthday celebrations…but that’s another tale for another blog post) and drop my handbag. In the kerfuffle, the pregnant woman reaches across me to grab my arm when she sees me slip, and I can’t figure out whether it’s to stop me falling or to protect her sandwich. Simultaneously, I reach over for my handbag. In the confusion, I turn my face as I look up to understand what just occurred and that is when it happens. I get a face-full of her unborn offspring, and when I say a face-full, I mean her belly makes contact with my face.
Nobody meant for it to happen, nor did they ever expect it to happen…but looking back, I have no idea how I didn’t see it coming. I attract these types of situations, as you all know by now. What happened next, I hear you ask?
Temporarily paralysed with shock, I stare blankly at the baby-bump that had just bumped faces with me. I then stand slowly, apologising profusely to the woman. She merely giggles, takes her sandwich and thanks me for my help. I still cannot believe what happened, and slowly realise how many witnesses there had been to the event. The aisle is now filled with stifled laughter. She then walks away as if nothing happened, which I admire her for. She will be an excellent mother.
I remain there, stupefied. Anchored to the spot, others reach past me to retrieve their own sandwiches whilst I mentally recap. I then turn on my heel, walk straight to the till, pay and get the hell out of there. How else do you walk away from that kind of situation, if not with feigned memory loss?