Insulting Pregnancy AKA “You Look Fat”

So I arrive, lipstick on, hair brushed, and armpits shaven…and I get, “So, when are you expecting?”

Well, we’re here. I think we’re on day 13 or something like that. Had a continual visitation roster, but it’s been wonderful to see people it a very relaxed environment. If I could only bring this type of peace back with me to my other world.

Lille came down with another bout of pancreatitis, and being on an island, there really isn’t a vet close by. Made a phone call to the vet and she suggested giving her 1/2 of a Zantac 75. I went to the general store, and voila – chopped that baby in half and popped it in the little schnauzer’s mouth…two hours later she had a bit of pep in her step. I wouldn’t say that she’s cured, but during dinner last night she was sniffing the floor for any scraps that might come her way and I don’t think I’ll be spending my day in Bluffton with a dog hooked up to an IV.

Tennis and an insulting pregnancy

Last week I played tennis competitively for the first time since that fateful day at Avila. Tennis with women is no different than it was two years or twenty years ago. Give me a break! I signed up (well, actually I went to the tennis pro and said that if anyone needed a partner that I would be happy to play). He FINALLY called me with a partner, a wonderful lady who spends about one week a month here on the island, and we entered the four team island tournament. We got creamed the first match…our opponents just fired at her for the fifty minute match…but by match two, the consolation round, her game was back on, and I was ready to oblige. We had a three hour duel…a showdown… and pulled it out with our endurance. 6-7 (7-9), 7-6 (7-5), 6-2. No one has called me to play. But the score isn’t my point with my observation. Here’s what was said….but before I do that, let me describe what I wore for match 1… A Nike DriFit empire waist lavender tennis dress with pencil pleats, the same design worn by Maria Sharapova at some point two years ago, when I bought the stupid thing. Also, as a little big of background, I was born with a birth defect called “Pectus Excavatum”, which basically means my chest or pectoral bone caves in and my boobs end from a side profile at my rib cage. From a front profile, I have beautiful cleavage. From the side, I look flat chested, and pregnant.

Arriving for match 2, I was wearing another tennis team number from my days playing for Avila. I wore it instead of the built in tennis skirt thing because I felt the spandex shorts looked a little too butch atheltic for me and a padded bra.

So I arrive, lipstick on, hair brushed, and armpits shaven…and I get, “So, when are you expecting?”

“What????”

“Someone yesterday said you are pregnant and having your fourth child”

Then another said, “That dress you were wearing looked like a maternity dress!”

Then another said, “Yeah, they said you were expecting”

“Oh dear God, No”, then realizing self consciously that I must appear fat in my size 6 outfit but also looking that their rolls coming over their tennis panties, I self insult, “I’m just fat”.

“So you aren’t pregnant?”

“NO!!!! GOD HELP ME!”

“That dress you wore yesterday made you look pregnant”

Wow. Silence. No apology of their insult or comment came. They just looked at me. Then one broke the awkward silence saying, “Shall we get started?”

And the wound penetrated. I mean, isn’t asking if someone is pregnant one of the biggest faux pas ever? Especially since, well, if they are just bloated, it’s an insult? What about having a fucking birth defect? It’s as bad as asking someone with little arms if they why they don’t want to play basketball!

Women are all the same. Even it you are an absolutely harmless stranger, they get their guard up and especially in tennis, roll their eyes, exclude you, and saunter off without you. Think before speaking ladies!

So we started. I didn’t know what to do, or how to play it. Were these women serious? It was just like the days of Avila.

So, after my inner battle of wanting to be accepted, after being insulted, I fired it up a notch. Not so much that I would have been detected as anything other than a 4.0 tennis player, but enough for Adele and I to win. I passed on the Luau at the pool for the awards and celebration. I went home to stitch up my wounds.

Self Reflection

John left on Monday and went to New York. Lille came down with Pancreatitis. I spent Monday with the kids and for an experiment stuck a sock in my boob. Put on the infamous dress. Turned sideways…I no longer looked pregnant. So I’ve decided that if I get bigger boobs, ones that just give me the same size that I have, but go beyond my caved in rib cage, I may bypass the pregnancy rumors once and for all.

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