The subway car rustled back and forth. It was filled to the brim with Manhattanites. The next stop brought even more crowds and packed us in even tighter.

A woman nudged behind me. Her protruding stomach brushed up against my backpack and I removed it to allow her more room.

"Excuse me," I apologized.

A nice guy with a seat looked up. He quickly stood and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Here, you can take my seat."

She turned to him with a smile. "No thanks, I can stand."

"No, really, you should take it," he repeated, motioning towards the seat. Other commuters turned to watch the show.

She blushed. "No, it's really okay." She bit her lip. "I'm not pregnant, I'm just fat."

The nice guy's face dropped. Just as quickly, he dropped back into his seat. The crowd quickly averted their eyes and stared intently at interesting specks of dirt on the floor. A stunned quiet gripped the car; you could even hear the crickets, even though we were hundreds of feet underground.

The nice guy mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," but it was just below a whisper. The woman gazed out the window and I thought, "Gee, that's a really really interesting speck of dirt right there…"

. . .

Ever put your foot in your mouth?