05-26-00
In the middle of a haircolor, one of my clients asked me what I would be doing this summer. I told her I had no specific plans beyond work and school, but that I hoped to make a trip out to the west coast later this summer. She looked up with this horrified look on her face and said, "Aren't you pregnant?!?"
I didn't know what else to say besides, "What?"
And she replied, "I thought you were pregnant." And then she pointedly looked at my stomach.
Now, I am not the leanest and meanest creature on the planet, but I am my normal weight for my size, I have high muscle mass, and I like to eat. I love food. I love healthy co-op food, I love exotic food. I love junk food. I love midwestern meat and potatoes food. I love almost all food. Therefor, I have a small buddha belly that in no way, shape or form could ever be mistaken for a bastard love child. [But, so what if I was pregnant. I mean, God forbid it should happen to someone as irresponsible as I am, but still. Am I rendered incapable of a 4-day weekend trip to the Bay Area because I happen to have a houseguest for nine months? I don't think so.] The comment was enough to give me a complex about being fat.
However, in celebration of everyone who heard the pregnancy story telling me that I didn't look fat, much less pregnant, and because my eyes are still bothering me thanks to the evil pigdogs at Ciba, I decided to forgo the gym today. I went out and bought lovely running shoes that will cushion and embrace my feet while protecting my knees, ankles and shins from unnecessary wear and tear. And then I topped it all off with a macadamia nut white chocolate chunk cookie as big as my head.
And it was tasty.
