(A coworker comes into the office and notices I am eating doughnuts.)
Coworker: “Oh, can I have one, please?”
Me: “Umm, I don’t think they’ll be to your liking.”
Coworker: “I love doughnuts, though!”
(She reaches for one.)
Me: “No, really. I don’t think you want one.”
Coworker: “Gosh, you’re always so rude. You greedy pig!”
(She puts half of one in her mouth and bites down hard. She then chews, looking satisfied, but after a couple of seconds she spits it out.)
Coworker: “That is disgusting! Oh, my God. Look, I’m bleeding!”
Me: “No, that’s just tomato sauce.”
Coworker: “Tomato sauce?! With doughnuts? That’s horrible. Why are you having that?”
Me: “I’m pregnant. I was craving it.”
(She scoffed at me about how ridiculous I was and how I was just milking my pregnancy for attention. Literally three people in the office work knew at that point, her being the third that I had just told. She then made it a point to criticise my pregnancy every time she saw me. It got to a point that I started having breakdowns from the constant harassment and she was reprimanded and suspended for a week. The worst part was, a year or so later she got pregnant, as well, and it was particularly difficult for her, or so she would have us believe. The second she set foot in the office everything had to be about her. I made the mistake of walking into the staff room while she was having her cravings — honey-roasted peanuts and pork scratchings in mayonnaise — and she demanded that I leave for judging her; I literally hadn’t said a word. She then spat her food at me, screeching that at least it wasn’t tomato sauce and chocolate. The entire office breathed a sigh of relief when she went on maternity leave.)
