After a few minutes, I heard the toilet flush. Then Elizabeth Taylor walked out, lavender eyes and all, but younger, with a pixie haircut.
“What you staring at, for God’s sake?” the girl said. “Ain’t you ever heard a pregnant woman puke before?”
She leaned back as she waddled by, following her belly.
“Bet you have, honey. Bet you puke, yourself.”
It was a prophecy that came true as soon as I closed the door behind me.