I came through one day last week with a moderate-sized grocery load. I'm leaning over the cart unloading the things onto the conveyor belt while Tessa is flirting with whomever is behind us. The checker, a girl who looks like she's maybe in her early 20s (if not younger), is expressionless as she beeps every item across her scanner. She did her requisite "Hey. How are you today" sentence (I won't call it a "question" because it had none of the voice inflection of someone inquisitive, let alone sincere) as she carried on, and completely disregarded my chirpy response (I happened to be in a pretty good mood that day, considering).
But the defining moment was when she held up one of my produce bags containing some beautiful hand-picked greens to her face level and asked, in that same annoyed monotone, "What are these?" Except her version was, "whuddatheez." I half-grinned (which ticked her off even more) and said, "Brussels sprouts", and she let out the most exasperated sigh because that meant she had to look up the number on her sheets of paper. I mean, why doesn't each individual sprout come with a sticker to help out poor people like that!
Then she made some snide comment to the bagger about Cheetos when she saw I was buying some of those, too. Apparently, she hates "stuff with cheese on 'em". And of course I'm an idiot for enjoying those crunchy, neon orange love puffs.
Fast forward to yesterday. I was actually going to be in a public place (the hospital where I'm scheduled to give birth Monday morning), so I spent a little more time looking somewhat presentable, both for myself and for the sake of the nursing staff who will soon be my godsends. Once again, I was in a good mood. I got to have a lengthy phone conversation with my brother on my way to the hospital (for preliminary blood work), I looked relatively cute (which is a stretch to say considering the sheer mammoth of this belly now, AND my doubled chin that doesn't disappear when I hold my head up higher), and I was excited to be getting one step closer to meeting this little boy who has called my womb home for the last 39+ weeks. I called Ted on my way home and mentioned that since Tessa was still napping (he was at home with her), I'd go run to the store real quick for milk and bananas. And all the great cereals were 50% off. I consider it food storage.
Anyway, I see a line that has NO ONE IN IT! Every other line was full because of the 5:00 hour, so I waddle on over to it and start unloading. Then I realize why it's empty. Annoyed Monotone is there, sitting on her duff picking at her nails. I must not be the only one who knows what this means: I'm in for it again.
She's once again expressionless and insincere until I move from behind the scanner thing and she gets a look at my belly. Keep in mind that I thought I looked pretty good for 9 1/2 months pregnant. Her now famous line in our household:
"How many you got in there."
Again, not a real question. I wasn't sure I heard her right, so I tried to cover all my bases.
"I have one at home, and there's just one in here (pointing to belly)."
"Look like you gots twins. Cuz you big."
Thought process: [Is she joking? Did she really say that to me? Don't females know to never insinuate largeness to other females unless you have a personal vendetta against them? Does she have a personal vendetta against me? How is that possible? I just buy groceries here!]
Dash it all. And may God strike your skinny little body to blow up to balloon proportions if you're ever lucky enough to land a man long enough to get you pregnant, you rude little snot.