Today is breezy, and after the rain stops there is a nip in the air. It's the weekend, when what I wear leans more toward comfortable than stylish...or flattering. I put on pants and reach for the old faithful long-sleeved, high-waisted, slightly faded, knit top that hangs from my chest to below my hips. I even think as I look in the mirror - hmmm, this always makes me look a little pregnant, but I don't care what other people think. Comfort is king. Wrap a scarf around my neck and off I go.
When I flag down a sales lady at the middle-aged-lady's shop that I occasionally make purchases from she takes my selections as she says, "When are you due?" This is so out of context and outside of my thought process that I don't take it in until she opens a dressing room for me and says, "Oh, July? Here you go, let me know if you need anything." Does she mean, no she couldn't possibly. OH MY GOD SHE DOES. Waves of emotion wash over me. Speechless, flabbergasted, MORTIFIED, I can barely stand and nothing looks good on me, in fact all of my choices are too big. As I sneak out of the store avoiding the sales lady,
a big smile crosses my face. She actually thought that I looked
young enough to be of child-bearing age.
I LOOK YOUNG ENOUGH TO BE PREGNANT.
That must mean that I look at least
TEN YEARS YOUNGER than I am. Wow, I look gooooood.
Dance of Joy.
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