This actually just happened to me a few hours ago and it’s too good to pass up.
Walking into my apartment tonight. My neighbor, a mom of two (kids are probably 2 and 4 months). Here’s the conversation as I can remember it:
Her: Do you know what you’re having?
Me: (Looks at lunch bag. Is quite confused as dinner was eaten hours ago.)
Her: The baby. Do you know what you’re having yet? You’re pregnant, aren’t you?
Me: No. Not yet. Hopefully soon. (using far more grace than I have ever had in total in my life up until this point — I have now used all allotted grace until year 2016) We’re being treated for infertility.
Her: Oh. Cause I heard someone in the building was pregnant and I thought it had to be you.
Editor’s note: Okay, thanks. I just friggin told you that we’re a) not pregnant, and b) infertile. And you basically just called me fat. Thanks for that. I hope we have more chats like this.
Me: Yeah, it’s not us. But thanks. I’ll let you know if it becomes us (with a smile).
Her: Cause if you get pregnant, I have a lot of nearly new stuff that you can have.
Me: Thanks. I’ll, uh, let you know.
Which makes me feel bad, cause that’s actually a nice gesture. But I still hate you a little and I hope your new baby poops in your bed tonight.
And then my muskrat pelt fell off. Into a puddle of melty snow. And I went inside and cried.
The following remarks would make the FCC shit a brick. Consider yourself warned.
What I wanted to say:
Me: Listen, you cruel fat bitch. Mind your own fucking business. My father is on his death bed and is in the midst of having an epiphany that I am actually his daughter and that maybe treating me like absolute shit for the first 21 years of my life might have been a misstep. So now he gives a shit. And frankly, I am having a tough time caring. And I already feel really bad about it and I don’t know what to do. And my brother is putting me through the wringer about it. And work has been really hard lately.
And I don’t have any kids. But you’re pretty much a crackwhore, and you have two. And I’m trying to move overseas — and, here’s the kicker — having no family there might get me stuck here, but, wait for it, I don’t have any family here either. And I could leave this country tomorrow and very few people would notice. And I will make friends there because I make friends everywhere. And I found out tonight during my 4 p.m. to midnight shift that I now work 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. on Tuesdays, effective Feb. 27. And I am. Not. Real. Amused.
So leave me the fuck alone. And take your grimey poop-stained kids’ crap and shove it.
Stomps on muskrat pelt and exits stage left.