I had a single goal in mind. Go to the restrooms. With a friend, we made our way following the signs. He and I saw the line to the women’s restrooms at the same time.

“I think that you’re better off going once the show starts,” he said and hopped down the stairs to the lovely pleasures of being male.

I sighed loudly, hopping foot to foot—trying to decide what to do.

Then suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder. She was in her early 40s. Well-dressed, upper middle class…certainly one of the many that just consumed the overpriced wine without a single thought.

She said in a low voice, “Hey pregnant lady, come with me. There’s a secret entrance to the restroom. You don’t have to wait.”

I hesitated. I was not pregnant. Instead, I considered my options and stuttered, “Oh…okay…”

She read my hesitation as disbelief of her honesty. “No no, let me show you,” she led me toward the second set of stairs. “Just go that way and they won’t bother you. You couldn’t have known that there was a line on the other side. Go go.”

I was overcome with the need to desperately pee and said my thanks. Behind me, I could hear her male companion ask her what she was doing. She responded, “I am just helping her out.”

As I walked to the stairs, all I could think was…Did I get fat?

But I dismissed that thought and walked right in as a woman left a stall. I felt so much relief.