we are pregnant

a man turns to me, arm around a girl thick with foetus, who chitters and giggles with the girls around the high table but does not take a proffered jello shot.  he accepts his and removes the lid from the tiny cup. the follicles in my nose wither at the draft of alcohol fume like bus exhaust. a moment and he has polished the cup clean, saying with a dopy, sugar-glazed grin in no general direction at all: "We're pregnant!"

I do not recognize him.  If I ever knew the girl, it was two trimesters and a poor dye job hence.  She smiles thinly at me, and excuses herself to the ladies' room. A muffled, mumbling loudspeaker informs us that now, Leonora Borealis will sing us… something: "nur, Lirrynrruh Buhriyella gunnahingalee Blerstercut", we are assured. A sloshy short woman stumbles up to the stage on powerful legs, clad in a diaphanous yellow dress which outlines her gracious and unkempt pubic hair. The karaoke track of Blue Oyster Cult's "Godzilla" begins in tinny earnest.

The fellow pulls deeply from a plastic cup of beer, and repeats through foam and bubbles:
"We're pregnant!"
His face has begun to resemble an over-boiled potato, and I picture this man suffering morning sickness directly, horking up his stale beer and chicken biscuits at 7:13am, and then the coffee and second round of chicken biscuits at 8:49. I mean to inquire after his gastrointestinal health, but he laughs as Liranova Barbarella belts out a surprising, throaty growl:

"Widda puppusful grimmiss anna terribah sound
He pullsa spitty high tenshun whyers daown"

He looses a guffaw, loud, jarring, and beery. I notice the girl has not returned, and I picture him achy and bloated, waddling to the john every quarter hour, keeping proximity to bathrooms much as sex offenders keep distance from schools. I wonder how long he has been pregnant for, if the gestation is of differing length and severity, if it began concurrent with hers. They are the both of them pregnant! The implications of plurality demand attention, not just for the curiosity of the person, but the biological sciences, and natural order.   

"Do you get much morning sickness?" I simply must know.

He laughs, and refills the plastic cup from a pitcher on the table. Another round of jello shots has arrived, all of them uncapped and reeking Mephistophelian vapors. The girl is returning from the bathroom, but halts just before the table as a look of pure nausea sweeps her face, and she makes for the toilet again.  The man does not notice, but responds to me, "When I overdo it!" and swallows the unnaturally blue gelatinous cube.
Learaneara Bree Ella punctuates this magisterially:

"Ohhh no, DARE GO TOE-KEY-OH
oh-oh GAHZILLAH!
yee-eeaa-ah"

He swallows, and begins listening to another girl across the table. I cannot hear them over the sultry titanette gyrating on the stage to the instrumental break, microphone held suggestively to her chest. But then the man is cackling at whatever has been said, clapping his hands vigorously, and leans back on his stool. He slaps his thighs and, reclining too far, slides right off the back of his seat squarely onto his tailbone.

A short groan escapes him, and I see that the girl has returned from the bathroom behind him and is looking down at him. With his paunch now gathered round as he sits knees-up on the floor, I see him as a suddenly deflated ball, frayed and beaten in a flimsy gown, on his way to a gooch reconstruction after a particularly nasty parturition trauma. I realize now that the girl is laughing to herself, albeit quietly, as he moans and leans forward, rubbing his lower back. He rises slowly, heavily, as if pained with a dull, leaden ache, and gingerly returns to the stool. 

"Owww… I think…" he begins, and catches a breath. She has sat down again, and is talking low and fast to the two girls at her side, one or the other at times barking a short, unmistakeable laugh. 

"I think I gotta…" he begins again, and stops short. 
"Go?" she asks. He nods, as does she. He rises and shuffles to the door, while another girl at table wears a smile like a hyena. Learner-A-Bury Hellas grips her gown at the left thigh, rocks backward, and roars triumphantly:

"HISSORY SHOWS a-GEN AN a-GEN
how NATURRE POINS OWT da folly of men-nn
GAH-ZIL-LA!"

To ponderous, thunderous applause.