The Proof Is In The Pudding

| Clinton Township, MI, USA | Working | December 19, 2013

(The cashier is ringing up my items. She peers over the register at me and smiles.)

Cashier: “Sorry, I’ll try to move a bit faster. I know it must be torture waiting, especially for you!”

Me: “Me? Haha. I’m in no rush.”

Cashier: “I just know if I was pregnant, I wouldn’t want to wait for some pokey cashier!”

Me: “Oh… ah…”

Cashier: “Pregnancy can especially hurt your feet. I don’t know how you’re wearing those heels! When are you due?”

Me: “I’m… I’m not pregnant.”

Cashier: “Yes, you are! You’re skinny but you have a little bump there. You can’t hide it from me!”

Me: “I think that’s just my stomach distending the way stomachs do. I’m not pregnant.”

Cashier: “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry. Not saying you look fat, but… look at the food you were buying!”

Me: “I have Motrin and pudding.”

Cashier: “Exactly! With the tiny bulge and the pudding?!”

Me: “You thought I was pregnant because I bought pudding?”

(There’s an awkward silence as we both try to figure out how to move past this.)

Cashier: “So… What are the plans for this evening?”

Me: “I’m going to head to the gym. Haha. Maybe I’ll treat myself to a pudding cup afterward as a reward, eh?”

Cashier: “The gym? You shouldn’t in your condition!”

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