Recently, someone asked me if I were pregnant. First came the shocked silence. Then fits of maniacal laughter rocked the table (thanks a LOT, Jan and Christa…)
I have determined there are only three ways to handle this (beyond the obvious one of homicide. Hey – I’m a crime writer.)
1. Admit to a Fashion Crime. “It’s the top,” I say, shaking my head ruefully.
Or to quote my daughter: “Mom, baby-doll tops are so – like – last year.”
Hopefully, I was wearing a baby-doll top. Where can I buy more?
2. Admit to being Post-Pregnant
Take it from me: it’s perfectly legitimate to laugh charmingly and say, “Oh I’m not pregnant anymore, but I’m still carrying a little weight from my last pregnancy.”
This is absolutely true. I am. Never mind that my kid is now shaving and reading The Globe and Mail.
3. Take it as the Real Compliment it is
Always look on the bright side, says I. This stranger thinks I could be pregnant. HA! This deluded stranger thinks I look young enough to still have a baby? Ten years ago, I wasn’t young enough to have a baby. Are they blind?
Never mind! BINGO! Note to self: Continue with the anti-aging strategy.
Keep eating until all the wrinkles fill out.
Works for me.