Peas Out Mama

blogging about life in the mama 'hood

Don’t Be That Guy

My ambitious (and clearly non-thinking) self decided it’d be a good idea to do a couple of errands this morning before preschool drop-off. Quick bank deposit, then off to the dry cleaner. I don’t know why, but the boy loves going to the dry cleaner. It’s weird and I don’t get it, but I’m hoping he’ll maintain his enthusiasm once he learns how to drive. Perhaps by then, he’ll stop calling it the drive cleaner. Or not. In all seriousness, he gets pissed off at me if he finds out I went without him. (Yeah, think on that a minute.) In any case, that’s how I found myself picking up clothes at 8:05 am.

I love our dry cleaner, and I’m a loyal customer, but what happened next just isn’t okay.

Listen, I admit it. I gained weight over the summer. I’m not exactly sure how, but I think it has something to do with all of the eating and not exercising. That sounds about right. 

And maybe I sometimes wear casual dresses over jeans. It’s comfy. I like it.

Perhaps you can see where this is heading.

I’m just trying to get a few things done — still letting my many cups of coffee do their thing — when dry cleaner dude asks, “You expecting another one?”

For a fraction of a second, I went all deer-in-the-headlights on him. 

And then I was like…

Gary Coleman

Okay, I’m truthfully a pretty polite person in real life. I responded, “Me?!” with sincere surprise. 

And then it was his turn for the deer-in-the-headlights thing. His face may have turned red.

I brushed it off like it was no big deal, because he’s actually a really nice guy. (Also because the boy was with me…kidding.)

But really, isn’t it a fundamental principle of humanity that you never, never ask a woman if she’s pregnant unless she looks like she’s harboring a gigantic, bulging beach ball hostage? And only then, kids, because if she’s “just” got the belly, she may have already given birth, so step off. Didn’t we all agree long ago that in a civilized nation, you simply keep your mouth shut? No talkie-talkie. No askie-askie. Zip it.

Poor guy didn’t get the memo…until 8:05 this morning. 



Post Navigation

%d bloggers like this: