"I'm not pregnant."

Just as I thought there was no way I could connect with the women I was eating dinner with, just as it seemed that my chance to be involved in their community, even if just for a moment, was none, the women erupted into laughter.

I had just gone back for seconds of this amazing pasta I "helped" cook - and by help I mean, watched, as it's better for everyone that I don't try to cook after...well, it's a long story, and there are a couple of them - when Ben told me to get involved in the conversation at my table.

The problem? My table had seven women, five of them pregnant, the two others having birthed children of their own in the past, and me. And no, they weren't talking about sports.

I laughed and said to Ben, "How am I supposed to be involved in this conversation? I'm not pregnant."

One of the women heard me and told the rest and the next thing I knew my cheeks were red and everyone was laughing.

Even the God of the book of Judges has a sense of humor.

From then on I was involved in the conversation, full from thirds of the pasta, and laughing in agony as they talked about the pains of childbirth, swearing I would be the husband holding my wife's hand but looking the other way.