In a day filled with trips to an endless list of stores for everything from food to school supplies, a two-hour break for a tapas lunch with a dear friend and multi-tasking like a bandit, I couldn’t squash my craving for a chocolate milk shake.
I needed it. Really, I did. What the hell are a few more pounds? I mean, any other time I’d say to myself… “You’re f-ing nuts! You’re about to be filmed, in HD, on CNN and you’re going to eat that? I think not!!!!”
It’s very apparent from my recent rationalizing of said cravings that while I hear that voice, I have no problem squashing it. Clearly my brain is not functioning as I wish it would. Go figure.
I hit up Steak and Shake and opted to walk in since the drive thru line was about 15 cars deep and I WANTED my milkshake sooner than later. After answering the obligatory questions of “How much longer” and “What are you having?” from the cashier and ordering my “chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate, no whip cream”, it happened.
Out of nowhere a waitress is standing in front of me, with both of her hands on my belly.
I looked down at her hands and then up to her face and then back down to her hands as they moved around my belly feeling for who knows what. As I looked back up to her face, I realize that her lips were moving and she was asking “How much longer?” and “Boy or Girl?”.
My mind was swirling with “Holy Shit! This total stranger is for real and actually molesting me in public! I can’t believe this! Most strangers actually ask as they begin touch!” As I mumbled answers to her questions I actually thought she might reach up to my boobs and give them a feel too. Hell… why not? Maybe she had questions about if I would be breastfeeding too. I was clearly already a circus freak to be manhandled as she wished. Anything was possible.
I was stunned. I was speechless. I was irritated. She had kind eyes and that’s probably the only thing that kept me from loosing my shit on her, making an about-face and leaving. Kind eyes, a bit of shock and I did still really want my milkshake.
26 more days and I’ll cease being a public art project on display to be interrogated and molested. In 26 days I’ll re-join humanity as an individual with actual personal space. Revolutionary concept isn’t it?
From the stares and gawking I endured after my surgery as I tried to gracefully dine out with a black eye caused from the halo that had been screwed into my head and the massive bruising on my arms from the multiple IV’s while wearing scarves to hide the missing hair on my head; to the molesting, unsolicited advice and commentary and random and often deeply personal questions thrown at me from strangers while pregnant, a chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate and no whip cream does make the ugly part of humanity a little bit more palatable. Sad but true.