True story: When I was pregnant with my daughter, my husband and I took a trip to Atlanta. He was going through the admissions process for a PhD program at Emory University and I tagged along with the intent of scoping out places to live, work, and daycares. I was hungry though. We suspended our scouting and headed to one of my favorite Caribbean spots. I stood at the counter, rubbing my belling in anticipation of all that I would devour and placed my order. We sat and waited for our food. Our server, an older gentleman with a thick Jamaican accent, came to our table with hot plates of food...