I have attended the same Pilates class with the same instructor off-and-on for something like the past 14 years. More "off" than "on", but that's neither here nor there. The gym and the class is directly across from my old office building, which isn't far from my new office building and these days I'm under Doctor's orders to do Pilates as often as possible to strengthen my core and back muscles since that dumb PIZZA MAN rear-ended me, so I've gotten regular about going again.
My point in telling you all of that is that after all this time, I just sort of assumed that the instructor recognized me in some way. I always sit near the front and we always make lots of eye contact and stuff...you know how you have to face each other while you're in a birthing position or some such embarrassing thing and you try not to make eye contact but you can't help it because the only other place to look is her boobs or crotch and God help you if you're busted doing that!
Anyway the other day, I was facing away from her and laying on my stomach doing the breast stroke prep. When she called out "how ya doin' up there?" it totally sounded like she was aiming her voice at me and so I said, "good" and then right away she said, "and how's baby?" and then I felt SO embarrassed because obviously she was talking to somebody else.
I forgot about it until class was over and I was getting up to leave and she looked right into my eyes and asked how it was going for me. To let her know if anything was too strenuous. For the baby.
I wanted to just say "FINE!" and get the heck out of there, but I knew if I did I was going to have to endure questions about my pregnancy for the next several months. I had no choice. So instead I said the most awful thing I have ever had to say to a woman, an old friend (or so I thought), so happy for me, so willing to offer up prenatal Pilates advice:
I wanted to just say "FINE!" and get the heck out of there, but I knew if I did I was going to have to endure questions about my pregnancy for the next several months. I had no choice. So instead I said the most awful thing I have ever had to say to a woman, an old friend (or so I thought), so happy for me, so willing to offer up prenatal Pilates advice:
"I'm not pregnant."
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| I mean...do I look pregnant to you? |
*Please tell me your "somebody asked if I was pregnant and I totally wasn't" story. Somehow it will make me feel better.
Photo Credit
Photo Credit
5 comments:
Once I had to get my photo taken for work, the kind that would be posted all over the place - website, brochures, even saw it in the newspaper. Well anyways it was an awful pic and I called it my "pregnancy photo" because I looked pregnant (even sort of cradling the baby bump). When I got the proofs I told my brother this story and showed him the pic and he totally didn't understand me because when he saw the pic he said, "aah, you look nice Jess. I didn't know you worked there so long, you had this taken when you were pregnant with Anya?" and I was just like argggh never mind. Stupid stupid pregnancy photo. (Google it. Jessica Bode Mengali Accountancy. You yourself can see the baby bump)
At least you cleared that up.
I used to teach a class for grown up ladies in a halfway house downtown. One day we met at the library and my bitch co-teacher (she was a bitch even before this day)came to class (late) and the first thing she said to me was, "Ohhhh! Look at you! I didn't know you were pregnant! When are you due?" In her defense, I was wearing overalls which was a poor fashion choice, and I was kind of slumped down in my chair; but still. She saw me every few days. She knew I wasn't pregnant. Bitch. I loved saying, "...... I. Am. Not. Pregnant."
omg Kady. I am cringing so hard right now. For the whole situation. The cardinal rule #1 of speaking to a woman is NEVERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR be the first to say ANYTHING about looking pregnant. Jeeezus.
I used to sit every few weeks with Lurlene, an ancient sister of 6 foot 2, riddled with dementia. We would tie into mtg by phone. Instead of my usual monastic black, I once wore a smoky teal... "blouse"- with cool detailing, just the right cutaway shape around my middle, and a really sharp collar.
About ten minutes into the mtg, she gasped and leaned over to touch my middle just so and said "Girrrrrllll, you's pregnannnnnnt! When you gonna have that baby?" I said, "ah, no, most definitely no baby here." To which she replied, pinching my side- "Mm Mm Mm, nope girl, you's pregnant."
Sigh.
The kicker is that Louisiana Lurlene's dementia made her a clockwork goldfish. Every 5 minutes for the next two hours, she would gasp, move her slender long arm over my middle and start again. "Girrrrllllll, you's pregnannnnnt! When you gonna have that baby?" And since I couldn't bring myself to accept it, I would deny it every time, and the rest of the conversation and succeeding pinch would happen again.
That shirt was in the Goodwill drop box within hours. But it hasn't' didn't won't stop me from drinking beer.
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