A generic adult female gets snippy
Everywhere I go, I know they are thinking it. They are looking at me and wondering, “Is she pregnant? Should I congratulate her?”
To all of you gawkers and wonderers: NO and NO (unless you are congratulating me for being a singularly beautiful and talented woman).
There are the brazen few who don’t wonder, they just go right ahead and say it. I’d like to stomp on their toes, but my aim isn’t too good. I grab one of my stock replies and spew it forth from my mouth and hope it penetrates their tiny Neanderthal brains.
The question usually comes forth as such: “When is your baby due?”
Stock reply #1: “Oh, I’m not pregnant; I’m just really fat, thanks.” This is the one I usually use. The unmannerly person will hopefully turn bright crimson and stammer, “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look…uh well, that’s a nice dress you have on.” And I frown again and say, “It’s not a dress, it’s my shirt. See the pants way down there underneath my grotesquely large tummy?” And they slink off somewhere else, like the weasels they are.