"You're pregnant... in a bar!"

I had my first "Sweet Home Alabama" moment this week when my single sister coaxed me into a bar at 4 months pregnant. She lured me in with the promise of fried pickles and french fries (in my defense, Jesus himself would not be able to resist this deadly combo) and that's when I found myself surrounded by 16,000 men watching March Madness and drinking Bud. That night I discovered Mandi's life lesson #1,472: telling strange men at a bar that you are pregnant is likened to telling them that you have a third nipple. So I decided to have some fun with it and started warning them to "Just Say No to one night stands- it's not worth it!" (My campaign slogan would be- If you're gonna love, put it in a glove.) And then rub my belly and sigh for dramatic effect. So needless to say, my single sis and her skinny girlfriends sat around not eating and drinking their wine, looking especially single and sophisticated while I sat by myself surrounded by plates of sausage and cheese, fried shrimp, and of course... fried pickles. And I was the happiest person in the room.