Thin privilege is being able to tell someone is pregnant. So I'm walking home from work, and I decide to take the long way around through the park, 'cause it's pretty (most of the leaves have fallen off the trees, but it isn't bitingly cold yet.  Might as well take advantage of these unusually tame November days), and it's peaceful. As I round the corner where the playground is, I spy two seismic catastrophies, sitting on the bench and watching their children play (of-fucking-course they're just sitting there, and not interacting with them).  One of them yells at her kids to stop horsing around (I am no good with guessing weights, but the beetus countdown has already started for one kid, and I don't have much hope for the other), while ham #2 grabs a smoke, makes some sounds like a wet car engine trying to turn over, then lights it. This is when hammy the first asked the other ham to "put that thing out" because it was "unealthy for mah baby", and proceeded to pat her adipose depository (oh, great.  So not only does she already have two gunt runts, but also a beetus feetus on the way).  This was also the point at which I realised that these were, most likely, just two random planets who managed to get caught in their mutual gravitational pulls, rather than close friends, as ham #2 proceded to oink out her congratulations, and ask "when did you find out?". To which, hammy the first replied "about 9 months ago.  I'm due any day now!" I had to break into a light jog, just so I'd be mostly out of hearing distance when I couldn't hold my laughter in any more.