"You have babies yet?" she asked, oblivious to the fact that
1) she saw me at the end of last year so if I'd managed to have babies over the summer it would be a feat of science
2) it was the end of the day and we were surrounded by parents, teachers and children. Surrounded.
"No?" she answers herself. "You don't want babies?" I glance around, trying to find a way to get out of this conversation without launching into the "well, I'm going to grad school to get my doctorate but when that's over in 5 years" explanation when she claps her hands together. Apparently my pause was all she needed as answer.
"You are TRYING!" she exclaims. "I'll pray for you, Mrs. Lipstick!" and she runs off, as every parent and student in the parking lot turns to look at me and my red face. The parents waiting for their children stare at me, and I find myself hoping, praying, that they do not speak English, or if they do know English they don't understand what "trying" really means. Especially since a few hours later I needed to welcome them into the classroom for Back to School Night and pretend they hadn't just overheard a conversation about my very-personal life.