Out of Gas

[Day. Two women, Anna and Caroline are on their way to their midwife. Caroline is driving, having picked up Anna from work.]
Caroline: My pregnancy brain is getting worse. Today I sent an email to a colleague about a workshop I thought I had talked to him about. He emailed back saying "I don't know what you're talking about." We talked on the phone and I apologized profusely. He was very nice about it and was teasing me: "When are you due again?" (sighs) I keep forgetting things all the time. (pause) I think I'm out of gas.
Anna: (stroking Caroline's back) I know you are. You're really tired. You're ok. We'll get through this together.
(Car makes funny phut-phut sound)
Caroline: No, I mean it. We're out of gas. I meant to fill up earlier. I forgot.
(Car grumbles even more loudly. Caroline pulls into a parking space. Car dies.)

Luckily, we were near the clinic, so we weren't late for the appointment. Afterwards, we went for a very invigorating waddle (well, one of us waddled) to the nearest gas station to buy a can of gas.

Next time she says she's out of gas, I'll think twice before stroking her back and making sympathetic cooing noises.