My parents raised me that you never ask people about their reproductive plans. “You don’t know their situation,” my mom would say. I considered it such an impolite question that for years I didn’t even ask myself. Thirty-five turned into forty faster than McDonald’s food turns into cold nonfood.
Kid 1: *examining my gorgeous strawberry and blueberry pies*: Wow, Mom, your pies don’t look awful this time.
Me (Ilona): ...
~A little later~
Kid 2: *wandering into the kitchen*
Kid 1: Hey, you’ve got to see these pies. *opening the stove*
Kid 2: Wow. They are not ugly this time.
Kid 1: I know, right?