We’d like to thank Margaret for this story:
In the winter of ’86-’87, I was an anesthesiologist in New York City and grossly pregnant with my first child. One dark and stormy night I went to dinner with a friend at Paola’s on the Upper East Side. At first, I did not notice the man in the shadows wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and staring intently in our direction. As we devoured our appetizers, the stranger paid his bill, got up, and approached our table.
“You have the most incredible round face, and the most incredible round belly to go with it,” said Bill Murray. I struggled to summon my best OR cool and invite him to join us, but Murray was already sitting down. “So, what happened to you?” he asked with a nod at my belly. “It’s all your doing”, I blurted out. “Tell me more”, murmured Murray, leaning closer to prop his elbows on the table. Continue reading