Is She Or Isn't She?
I bought myself a cute top on clearance at Target the other day. It's a pretty turquoise, and has a square neck, a smocked bodice, gathered peasant-style sleeves and OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, FINE! I BOUGHT A MATERNITY SHIRT.
And it is cute, and I didn't realize it was maternity until after I got it home and it was on clearance and I technically don't care if anyone thinks I'm a few months pregnant because that's easier to explain than the padding around my middle and it is a really good color on me.
And...I'm reaching for justifications. I'm keeping it. Wore it today, in fact.
I just got home from the grocery store, when I realized that a day like today needed an alcohol-enhanced finish to it. The grocery store was filled with panicked last minute shoppers clutching Easter lillies and bags of jelly beans. I grabbed the few things I needed and waltzed up to the checkout counter where the teenaged checker kept grabbing the microphone and bawling "I need a lunch break on 8."
She was looking pretty desperate. She kept telling her bagger that she sure felt sick, and man did she need her break. Man. She totally, totally felt sick. And people, she needed her break.
So the couple in front of me, both dressed in scrubs and buying about 40 2 liter bottles of various soda and a carton of cigarettes, finally pushed their cart out of the way, and I loaded my gin and tonic water and Ben and Jerrys onto the belt. Oh. Hmm. I was making a snarky comment about the medical professionals buying crap and then there's me in my maternity shirt buying booze and ice cream.
Maybe I should followed them home and joined the party. Bet I would have fit right in.
Anyway, the checker finally got approval to close her lane, and sighed with relief. "Ya'll. I better not be knocked up. I think I might be, because I'm so sick and I have a headache, but I'm not ready to be dealing with that." she said, while sweeping her hand up and down in the direction of my abdomen.
"Oh, um. Hmm." I said, keeping my eyes on the numeric keypad and trying not to either laugh or cry.
"Fer reals. I'm so sick and barfy and if I've got a bun in the oven? It would be really bad."
I smile at her. "Well, I hope you feel better!" I try to be chipper, and attempt to help the bagger load my cart faster.
The checker leans her chin onto her fist and looks at me. "Man, I'm going to get all fat." Another gesture at my shirt.
I made a noise like a strangled cat and pushed the cart out of the store, breathing through my nose so hard my nostrils were flapping.
I loaded the groceries in the van and sat in the front seat, hands clenching the wheel and trying to sort out my feelings about all this. Then I started laughing. And howling.
And then I came home and made a drink. The end.