Hey tall guy at the grocery store,
I want to thank you. I didn’t expect much more from my frantic lunch hour grocery store trip than milk with dinner. Your dramatic, rubber necking turn out of the peanut aisle and over to the dairy section where I was standing was unexpected. It was really kind of awesome to know with absolute certainty that I was being checked out.
You were no good ole boy toting Milwaukee’s Best and cheese doodles either, you actually had real food in your basket and wore clothes clearly purchased in this decade. You weren’t my type, but I’m not embarrassed to say that I had a spring in my step as I crossed to my cart. You smiled at me when you saw that my cart was actually 8 feet of bright red and yellow truck steered by two little girls clutching character toothbrushes. You went your way as I went mine. It was a perfect exchange, nothing untoward, just a dose of grocery store flattery.
What was seriously not cool was the look you gave me when you saw me at the check out. You were clearly working your mojo to great effect on the sample girl hocking ham roll ups. I was cooing at the girls as I loaded the items from the cart onto the conveyor belt. All was good, then, as I reached for the organic red peppers in the bottom of my cart my red top lifted to reveal the hint of a pregnant belly. I’ll give you the fact that you managed not to choke on the ham roll up that was clearly fighting its way back up your esophagus at the urging of your brain. The sudden realization that you’d ogled a pregnant chick was more than you could handle. I think you might have actually shuddered.
Not cool, not cool at all.
-The pregnant chick with the-still-fine-ass