Do I Need To Paint A Picture For You?

(I’m newly pregnant, and while it’s exciting news for my husband and me, it’s not so great for work, as my store is in the middle of remodeling. Though I’m still in my first trimester, my manager knows and is usually good about accommodating me. This particular day, there’s no work to be done in my usual department, so I’m sent to help the backroom team hang clothes. About an hour into my shift, my manager comes into the backroom.)

Manager: “Okay, if any of you guys need to go to the bathroom or anything, try to go in the next twenty minutes; I’m going to be painting the floor in front of the door.”

Me: “You’re painting?”

Manager: “What’s wrong? Are you allergic?”

Me: “No, just, is there a painter’s mask or something I could wear for the fumes?”

Manager: “Sorry, I don’t think so. You’ll be fine. If you get a headache you can sit down.”

(A good fifteen seconds of silence pass between us before it dawns on him.)

Manager: “S***, you’re pregnant!”

(I got moved to the fitting room. The fitting room is slow, boring, and hasn’t got much traffic, but it beats inhaling paint fumes!)