Momma Duck

    I just told coworker T, my officemate, about something I haven't thought about in years. When I was a freshman in college I took a class called Social Interaction. It was a large lecture with about 200 students. (OK, "large" by the standards of the institution.) It was held from 10:30 AM until noon - and I remember the time for a specific reason that will become apparent. I sat next to a beautiful boy with whom I'd graduated from high school, Todd. [He was later engaged to my oldest friend in the world, Jennifer. She's now much more happily married to a great guy named A, and they have an adorable son.] Todd and I sat around 5 rows back.
    In front of Todd and me, by about 3 rows, were a group of around 6 heavy-set women. Every day at 11:00, one of their watches would beep. This was the late 1980s, when those crappy electric watches with plastic bands were still "cool", and she wore a classic model that looked like a diver's watch but couldn't have withstood a brief shower. Anyway, the watch would beep and she'd shut it off, open her purse, and pull out 6 packs of birth control pills. She'd pop out one pill from each pack, and pass them to each of her friends.
    Like a momma duck, taking care of her ducklings.
    Naturally, Todd and I, who were around 18 years old at the time, found this unbelievably hysterical. I still think it's really funny. I should be impressed that they were taking care of themselves and knew enough to entrust their reproductive health to someone who would be responsible. But so many things could go wrong - she could be sick, or hit by a bus, or afflicted with a hangover or still shacked up with a football player or something, and they'd all be sunk.
    Right in front of 200 people, handing out birth control pills. Crazy. Haven't thought about that in ages.