I can't remember when this little gem reared its head. A week or two ago. I heard about it via the morning show, and couldn't believe my happy wee hazel eyes when it popped up in the Herald online again today. I loved it the first time. I loved it even more when I saw April's response to the furor.
Linky to the Herald snippet vis a vis ... I simply can't do it justice. You have to read.
The thing I love about this is that every woman knows (as do most men come to that and men are usually abominably dense about such matters) that you never ask a woman if she's pregnant unless she's waving a pee-sodden positive pregnancy test in your face. Or, you know, she looks like she's carrying an entire football team and is obviously about to pop any second and you feel it would be wise to get out of dodge in case something gross happens while you may be within compulsory-assistance-giving distance. And by any second I mean any second.
Never.
Never ever.
Case in point - Pal Stu has dared me to look blankly at the first person who asks me about my own rapidly expanding girth and assure whoever the poor bastard/bastardess is that I'm not pregnant at all. Mortified looks are optional. But, so far, despite said rapidly expanding girth, I've had many a sideways look and so far no opportunity, and just quietly, I'm a little pissed off just in case people do think No. 9 is just pies.
You don't even make jokes like that to your BFF (Tee hee. I'm 30 years old and I just used BFF in my blog. I love it). Even if it's your BFF to infinity and beyond (unless she started it) (I thought the to infinity and beyond was the only way to make BFF cooler). You. Will. Get. Killed. Husbands are OK ...there's not too much risk there. But anyone else? Nada.
And seriously? Because she was glowing? Because her boobs looked big? She says she hadn't seen Leah in six years (I think ... I have no trust in my memory at the moment) ... what did she do? Measure them last time? I couldn't tell you how big the last pair of boobs were that I saw today, let alone a random pair I saw six years ago. And glowing? I'm guessing, in the most affectionate way possible for I do adore dear Leah's sense of humour and I know she'd see the funny side, that it was a Chardonnay related glow. Surely if April knew Leah well enough to examine her boobs, she'd know about the wine thing? Surely?
Which leads me to the same conclusion that no doubt everyone else has reached. April is either completely stupid, which I doubt, because we've all seen her in the magazines and she's no stranger to errr ... weighty issues ... and therefore knows exactly why and when one should keep one's cake hole firmly shut. No, not stupid. Evil enough to not only make the comment, but wear the embarrassment factor of making such a terrible mistake? That'd be my guess kiddies.
As for how this ends, all I can say is saucer of milk, table for two, and for heavens sake, someone get me a popcorn before the next round!
And bless them both a thousand times for giving me something to unleash all these pent-up pregnancy hormones on.
(I've just realised that I'm not 30 either. That's next year. Woops. I blame the hormones. Still, 29 and using BFF is easily as excellent as being 30 and using it.)
5 comments:
heeeeeeehehe I heard them on the radio the other day and wondered what she'd done to piss Leah off.
And Liz came up with an excellent response to the pregnancy question. "What pregnancy? I have a tumour" *queue deadpand expression*
(Apologies for ref to cancer. I know it is serious. But so is asking "when are you due?" to a woman who isn't giving birth in front of you)
Exactly. The one and only time I've ever asked that was whilst in a state of white knuckled fear at a BBQ. I was particularly unused to all things pregnancy, and about ... ack ... 8 years younger, and I was sitting next to a woman who was about 8 mos pregnant, and the baby rolled over. It did this almighty heave out one side, stretched enough that I could see limbs, then rolled over and settled down again. Obviously, I shot out of my chair and across the room terrified she was going to have the baby right there and then.
someone asked me when I was due, three weeks after I had delivered Chelsea (admittedly she was 9lb). I was still in pregnancy clothes as my body was the shape of an amorphous squid, and nothing else fitted. I was mortified; so was the asker; we laughed, and became good friends later . . .
Yeah, unless the sprog is crowning (not even if you think you can see it moving! the woman might have severe wind, or a mobile tumour!)
DON'T ASK. DON'T MENTION IT. keep your eyes above the waistline.
oh yeah, its saucer of milk for table two btw.
bloody hormones.
Oh, I can't believe I missed all of this while I was away... But lets just say I could give yu some interrrresting inside goss on a certain person named after the fourth month of the year, as I handled her weight-loss column when she was writing for the Weekly. She ain't my favourite "celebrity", that's for certain. Anyway, hope we can catch up soon! :)
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