Her age, for instance.
Or whether or not she's "just" PMS-ing.
But the Big One, the HUGE One, the one question you should never, ever utter near a woman of reproducing years?
Are you pregnant?
I'm not sure where it started or who said it, but I maintain that unless you see a woman actively giving birth right in front of you, you just. don't. ask.
I figure that's just understood. I thought all of woman-kind wholeheartedly supported and practiced this rule.
Most of the ladies I know would refuse to utter that phrase under threat of punishment or death.
They just know better.
No one's that stupid.
Except when they don't and when they are.
Yesterday, a co-worker, a female co-worker, uttered the phrase, quietly, but still clear as day, "Are you pregnant?"
In. my. direction.
I'll admit, I checked behind me, to make sure she wasn't talking to somebody else.
Except she wasn't. She was definitely talking to me.
And just like that, I experienced another rite of passage as a woman - for the first time, someone asked me if I was expecting.
Much like all other first times I experienced female rites of passage - menstrual cramps, shaving, thong underwear - it kind of sucked.
And it took quite a bit of self control not to throw back, "No! Are you?" to a normally sweet, Southern, post-menopausal woman.
Instead, I only managed to utter, rather meekly, "No, but oh Lord help me, do I look it?"
Because we all know that even if you want to be pregnant, no one wants to be told they look pregnant.
Turning bright red, the co-worker managed to mutter that I didn't appear pregnant, but that I had worn two flowy shirts two days in a row, so she thought I might be trying to hide something.
Which, of course, called into question my wardrobe choices, which is almost as bad as telling a woman she's pregnant.
Because now, you're simply saying her clothes make her appear fat.
I managed to squeak out an "Ahh" of attempted understanding.
But she didn't stop there.
"Well, all the other teachers your age who got married last year are pregnant now, too. I just can't keep them straight."
Ouch.
Thanks, lady. Way to really drive that final nail into my ugly, childless coffin.
Because now you've told me I appear to have a belly; I wear clothes that make me appear larger than I really am, and I'm way behind my peers in doing my female duty of populating the Earth.
And yes, Dear Misled Co-Worker, I, too, noticed that I'm the only 20-something married teacher who's not pregnant or recently holding a new baby of their own. Trust me, that hadn't escaped Baby Brain over here. I just hoped it wasn't apparent to everyone else.
I did manage to finish the day before running to see another co-worker - who of course had a baby last April -and losing my tears all down my tired face.
Honestly, I didn't know what upset me more: That my personal appearance was called into question, or that my childless state was apparently visible for the whole world to see.
The other teacher finished comforting me. I retreated back to my classroom. And then I proceeded to carry out a time-honored tradition, a behavior any woman would enact in this situation.
I scrutinized every inch of skin and tissue around my mid-section.
I spent far too long in the bathroom, examining my stomach, pinching and poking and making sure that it didn't pop out. (If I'd had a pregnancy test handy, I would have taken that, too.)
Turns out, my stomach looks the same as it has for the last four years of my life.
I think.
I did some extra sit-ups at the gym just to make sure.
***
Happy Thursday everybody!
