A Tale of Two Beotches.

It was such a beautiful sunny day that I decided to take a walk over to the bookstore to find a hair style magazine. I'm thinking of getting a hair cut and I wanted to browse through some potential styles, and I don't feel like sitting at my desk at work reading through the huge pile of papers stacked up all over the place. So off I go. First, though, I stop in J. Crew because I saw some cute tops in the catalog but can never predict which size to order. I am slowly browsing my way through the store when Elizabeth, the petite sales lady with the very loud voice (and cute 'do) offers to start a dressing room for me. She notices the cute cotton top I am gazing at, and informs me "You know, we have those in a softer, looser, material if you'd like, because I notice" (her gaze shifts towards my belly) (she notices the expression on my face and corrects herself before she makes a fatal faux pas) "that you are wearing that sort of thing already."

No, actually, I am most definitely not wearing that sort of thing already.

Beotch.

My mood does not improve while in the fitting room as I finally reach the inevitable conclusion that J. Crew clothes are just not for me. Well, except for one breezy loose elastic waist crinkle skirt, in brown- brown is the new black, you know.

I leave J. Crew and head over to the bookstore. I head straight to the magazines. I can't help noticing that the one hairstyle magazine they have is happily nestled in between the pregnancy/ parenting magazines and the diet/excercise magazines. And I thought to myself, whoever thought it was a good idea to organize the magazines in this fashion? Once you become pregnant, your body will never, ever, look that trim and fit. Never.

Mission accomplished I head back to work, but then make a quick detour at Origins to by some new cleanser. The cute sales lady is giving some liberated guy a facial but stops to check me out, and ask "When is the baby due?"

I look up at her, reach across the counter and slap her- once on each cheek- then grab my bag and walk out the door, flipping my still long enough to be flippable hair as I do so.

Blink blink. Ok, that was my Ally McBeal moment. But I did reply "A year ago."

Beotch.

Thorughly depressed and determined to never ever wear these pants again, I finally decide that enough is enough and head back to work. After stopping in for an ice cream cone at Ashleys.

Hey, I had two babies. So I have a little poochy belly. Give me a break.