Last night someone called me "fat."
This is where you say, "But Lauren, you're not fat, you're pregnant."
To which my response should be, "I know that I'm not fat. I'm about to deliver a baby. Pregnant women are beautiful, blah, blah, blah."
Truth is, I'm still seething over the following exchange. Perhaps later I'll have simmered down to "livid." Perhaps.
The conversation went something like this:
telephone: ring, ring
Jerk: "Hello my little fat girl."
Me: "Um, what did you call me?"
Jerk: "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were my (insert relationship here)."
Me: "This is your (insert relationship here). What did you call me?"
Jerk: "I called you 'my little fat girl.''
This is where the details get hazy. I might have told this jerk that he was being inappropriate, which is my blanket response when Joey is calling something "poopy." I might have blacked out and called the offender every name in the book. Or I might have just hung up the phone. I did, however, send a concise, polite email to say that commenting on a woman's weight is never appropriate.
But, seriously, on what friggin' planet is it okay to say that to a person? One where it's okay to be verbally abusive? One where eating disorders are the norm? I am just flabbergasted by the insensitivity of some people. Pregnant or not, it's not polite to comment on a person's weight.
At 39 weeks pregnant, believe me, I'm ready to lose the baby weight and get into my old clothes. Although the elastic-waist pants make frequent trips to the bathroom less of a hassle, I'm looking forward to pants with buttons and zippers. I've been wearing the same four articles of clothing for the past two months and I am so sick of these things that I have already half-way packed my maternity clothes away. I don't even want to do any post-pregnancy shopping for anything new (gasp!), I just want to be able to wear my old stuff. I don't care if my "old" clothes are totally outdated by now; unfortunately the boyfriend jean trend didn't seem to last very long, and I've heard that skinny jeans are making way for the comeback of flares. Regardless, I'm ready to fit into those things again.
To be clear, my sweet husband is not the offender. He's nice to me. He rubs my feet.