Having spent two days over the last 8 or so on trans- Atlantic flights (WHICH, by the way are not exactly designed for the comfort of your average knocked up person), my levels of cranky are slightly elevated in any case. But then there are days when the universe says, "This day? Not so much for you."
It began with a total stranger in a car shouting at me that I was a "dippy tart" due to the fact that I couldn't move forward 2 inches in a traffic jam. I honestly couldn't. I was already vehicularly sodomizing the car in front of me on a treacherously slippery road and was not going to risk kissing their bumper, so I smiled a friendly smile at the gesticulating BMW driver and gave him the finger. I fantastized, of course, about rolling down my window and equating his need to abuse a pregnant woman on the way to a midwife appointment with his microscopic genitalia, but I refrained and simply turned up my radio instead to block out the torrent of abuse I could hear coming through both his and my window.
After said midwife appointment, (which went just dandy, thank you) I decided to brave the supermarket, which was obviously an idea that everyone else who has been stranded for days in their own homes due to the depraved indifference of the local councils during the recent snow had, because it was packed to pre-Christmas levels.
Being pregnant, does not, as you might believe, keep people from ramming shopping trolleys into you. In fact, I was run into no less than 4 times. The final ramming came from behind, made me jump and accidentally run into another woman. I profusely apologized, but was still treated to a "bitch" by my entirely able bodied victim as she rather exaggeratedly limped away.
By the time I arrived at the checkouts, I was biting my tongue and trying not to announce to the entire store that they were all bastards and I hoped they'd all get hemorrhoids when the woman behind me smiled sweetly and said, "Ooo! Not long now!"
"Pardon?" I said.
"When are you due?"
"Oh, right. March."
"NO. Really?? But you're so BIG!"
But wait. There's more.
The checkout woman then followed this lovely observation with:
"How're you feeling? A bit fat and fed up?"
It was at this moment that the large jar of spaghetti sauce that I'd just purchased made a valiant bid for freedom and plummeted to it's rather messy doom on the floor, earning me withering looks from surrounding customers, who didn't know how lucky they were that, in my rage, I didn't pick up one of the large, jaggedly broken pieces of glass and become probably the most interesting newspaper headline of the year in the Aylesbury Vale.
Pregnant Slasher Rampage At Local Tesco
Not so much for me, with today.