Foot in mouth disease
While I’m jotting a few notes away at the back counter, I see a petite girl walking towards me. It’s J, a girl I went to school with. She was cool. We were in the same chemistry class (we sat beside each other) and had a few friends in common.
As she comes closer, she still looks the same. Not very tall, with the same black tights/jeans she always wore, topped off with a baggy sweater that held in her very ample breasts. Only now, I notice a little bump snuggled inside her sweater.
“God, J, it’s been so long.” I smile, look down at her stomach and point with my right hand. “When is the baby due?”
“What baby?” She looks confused.
“Your baby.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
Fuck. Did I just infer her being pregnant instead of being just fat? I could’ve sworn she’s pregnant. Think of something, Steven. Think of something quick!
“Oh. Well, the sweater you have on is kinda baggy, I just thought… So, how are things?” I say an octave higher, while putting my hand down on the counter and leaning forward.
Smooth, Steven, smooth. Another case of foot in mouth disease averted.
She asks about a certain product and after trying to qualify her needs (we don’t carry it), we say our goodbyes and she walks out of the store.
Thankfully, she was a little slow to notice my faux pas. I guess that’s why she always wanted to partner with me for labs and copy off my tests in chemistry class.
Note: If you were there, you would’ve sworn on the baby Jesus that she was expecting. And by the looks of it, she was carrying twins.
As she comes closer, she still looks the same. Not very tall, with the same black tights/jeans she always wore, topped off with a baggy sweater that held in her very ample breasts. Only now, I notice a little bump snuggled inside her sweater.
“God, J, it’s been so long.” I smile, look down at her stomach and point with my right hand. “When is the baby due?”
“What baby?” She looks confused.
“Your baby.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
Fuck. Did I just infer her being pregnant instead of being just fat? I could’ve sworn she’s pregnant. Think of something, Steven. Think of something quick!
“Oh. Well, the sweater you have on is kinda baggy, I just thought… So, how are things?” I say an octave higher, while putting my hand down on the counter and leaning forward.
Smooth, Steven, smooth. Another case of foot in mouth disease averted.
She asks about a certain product and after trying to qualify her needs (we don’t carry it), we say our goodbyes and she walks out of the store.
Thankfully, she was a little slow to notice my faux pas. I guess that’s why she always wanted to partner with me for labs and copy off my tests in chemistry class.
Note: If you were there, you would’ve sworn on the baby Jesus that she was expecting. And by the looks of it, she was carrying twins.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
4 Comments:
Good one! I did something just as bad a few years back. As a cashier was ringing me up I told her that I liked her with her newly shaved head. She responded with, it's just growing back after the Chemo. What do you say after that? "You should get cancer more often, it looks good on you?" Pretty much the end of the conversation there.
Well, that beats mine.
These days it's hard to tell. All the muffin tops in their cropped shirts look like they're about 3-4 months along. It's not a baby though, just too many donuts.
Ha ha.
Muffin tops.
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