A good part of my job at a non-profit arts education organization consists of online and phone correspondence with the many individuals with whom we work in conjunction to our programming. I look forward to meeting them when they come to our office for events – you know – the whole put-a-face-to-the-name thing. Anyway, last week we had just this kind of event. As I was setting up the room and making last minute adjustments to the technology being used, one of our constituents leans over to me and quasi-whispers, “Emily – I didn’t know you were pregnant!”
Shock … mouth-gaping shock.
“I’m not.” I said, and left the room in sheer disbelief. To her credit, I was wearing a flowy top. It’s from the Anna Sui/Gossip Girl-inspired line at Target and was $40. $40 in Target money is like $400 in Bloomie’s money.
I guess this kind of thing happens all the time, really. But to a 23-year old young woman living and working in New York City? Do I even look old enough to be “well-situated” and pregnant?
It wasn’t that she thought I was pregnant that flabbergasted me so. It’s the fact that she think I was pregnant despite the fact that I’ve lost 15 pounds over the last couple of months. 15 pounds! What would she have thought had I never lost the weight? Just that I was a few moths further along? The good thing is that after hearing this, I immediately never wanted to eat again. In my pre-Weight Watchers days I would have immediately eaten anything in sight to try to console myself. Progress.
Then there’s the fact that my boyfriend has been deployed in Afghanistan since July. A sick part of me wishes that I were actually pregnant…because that would mean that I would have had to have sex in the past 3 months. Negative. These days, sex for me consists of 5 minutes with my new best friend – the “Thumbs Up.” Unless this new friend has secret dildo powers for Immaculate Conception, there’s no way I’m pregnant.
Plus I don’t even make enough moolah to cover my much-needed Happy Hour habit, much less support a child. And I have a strong aversion to babies in bars. Anyone who’s ever gone to Happy Hour in Park Slope or Prospect Heights knows what I’m talking about.
For the record – I’m not trashing that top.
~Emily Abbot
New York, NY
emily.a.abbott@gmail.com
