The pharmacy worker approaches me with a look of smirking sympathy in her eyes, as if she’s placing a bet with herself as to whether I’m trying to head for the constipation-relief aisle or the birth-control section. And even though I’m not (necessarily) looking for either of those sections, I get flustered when I see her coming. She asks compassionately what I’m looking for. I panic and say I just want the “baby” section – which I don’t really want at all, but I can’t think of anything else to say. Anyway, then I feel like I HAVE to get something from the baby section so I don’t come across as a weirdo who’s only pretending to need baby goods. So I get a baby cup. I hate shopping at pharmacies.