And the Moral of the Story Is, It Does Hurt to Ask

Do I look pregnant? I submit that
I do not! I need to go eat cake now...

On Thursday, I was shuffling through the dress racks at Salvation Army when a woman with a huge black sunhat entered my aisle. I looked up at her, smiled, and said, “I like your hat!”

“Thanks!” she said brightly, then glanced at the potbelly (aka my “butter tummy”). “So are you due soon?”

My brain had a conniption of indecision, trying to decide whether to teach her a lesson through embarrassment, or tell her a made-up due date. I blurted out a cheerful, “Not yet,” and escaped to the other side of the rack, leaving her to sort out what that might mean.

Suddenly I didn’t feel like trying on dresses anymore. I meandered over to the kitchen goods section and rooted through the utensils. My thoughts went something like this: Hmm, a ladle. We could really use a ladle, for dishing out all those INCREDIBLY NUTRITIOUS SOUPS THAT I MAKE. Oh, and here’s a potato masher so I can make my own mashed potatoes and LIGHTLY AND RESPONSIBLY SALT THEM, and— hey, look! A watermelon baller! Now I can scoop out watermelons easier and make TASTY AND SLIMMING HEALTH MEALS WITH THEM. Right? RIGHT?

And then I speed-walked home and baked a cake.

The End.

~~~