There’s a Pun of Labor Here, I’m Sure of it


Frank and I are spending Labor Day weekend in the city, which should surprise no one who knows us because we are generally broke people who don’t go on vacation unless by vacation you mean “going to one of our parents’ house or some place that our parents are paying for us to be.” I’ve spent the last four or five Labor, Memorial, Arbor, Independence, Columbus, Martin Luther King, New Years, and birth- days in the city.

Which I’m fine with, normally. Especially for the summer holidays, because unless you are going to get on a plane and go somewhere, trying to get anywhere by car is a complete nightmare, and forget about going to the Hamptons because, c’mon, we don’t know anyone with a house in the Hamptons.

So I’ve spent the last at least four years’ worth of Labor Days in New York, and have experienced the phenomenon of a city empty of every person but us, broke people like us, and tourists. But this year I have noticed a new class of person. Maybe they’ve been there all along, but I swear, I’ve never noticed them in this profusion: pregnant ladies.

Nothing against you, pregnant ladies. I respect your choice to get all knocked up. But seriously, everywhere I’ve been this weekend has been all preggo chicks, their males, and/or couples with children too young to travel. I thought at first that it was just Brooklyn being Brooklyn, but after spending today in Manhattan, no, it isn’t that.

I find it so bizarre. Not that pregnant women wouldn’t want to travel—that makes sense. In fact, I visited my lady doctor this Thursday for a checkup and she mentioned that she couldn’t go out of town until Sunday because she had a baby to deliver on Saturday, so you know. Babies are a’poppin. But I find it impossible to believe that there are literally no other people around.

Frank and I, after shopping around all day, weaving our way through the bulging midsections, visited a bar that we like. To be fair, it’s an outside place that serves food, so it’s not entirely a bar, but it’s a bar. And not only were there two groups of folks with their very very young children, there was actually a pregnant lady. I’m sure she wasn’t having a beer or anything, but if you can’t get away from the recently spawned and about to spawn in a bar, then you know you are essentially living in a larger, more expensive version of a McDonald’s playland.

I used to be one of those really tiresome people that rails extensively against marriage and children. As I’ve matured, I’ve come to realize that many people marry for completely awesome reasons and that just because I don’t want kids that doesn’t mean it’s a bad choice for everyone (not to even mention how often I’ve been told that I’ll “change my mind when the hormones kick in” which, still waiting on that but I won’t say it’s impossible.)

But it does feel a little weird to be left in a huge city populated nearly exclusively by females in a delicate way. It makes me worry that we’ve made some kind of odd choice. Sort of like when you walk into a gay bar that you didn’t know was a gay bar, and though typically you enjoy hanging out in gay bars because obviously they are awesome, still feel a little awkward about not realizing that it was one. A sense that you have misjudged the situation. Another example would be when you go to a party thinking that it would be mostly people you know and then the only people there are in college.

I’m sure no harm will come of it. I am enjoying my holiday weekend, definitely. But if “I’m spending the holiday in the city” is now code for “I might be pregnant,” I need to re-think my nomenclature. And make friends with someone who has a beach house.