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.
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ReplyDeleteI kept explaining to salesclerks that I had a few pounds of baby fat.
ReplyDelete"How old is your baby?" one finally asked me.
"Oh, um, he's five."
The look of shock mingled with disapproval on her face did the trick. I never mentioned my baby again. Not even the second one. I am what I am, as Popeye would say. Take it or leave it, right?
You are my type of gal, Marta!
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