Thursday, February 26, 2009
As everyone got up to break for lunch at a recent council meeting I was covering, I had an embarrassing moment of feeling as if I might faint. Apparently it showed on my face, because before I could sit myself back down, several councilors were kindly offering me water, a cool cloth etc.
I quickly felt better and chalked it up to dehydration, hunger or most likely, the sheer oxygen absorbing ennui of sitting through yet another 6-hour meeting detailing how many rogue wild turkeys were apprehended by animal control this month, council's difficulties with their email system and other fun facts.
One of the councilors, however, took a flying leap to quite another conclusion.
"You'd tell Auntie *Mabel if you were pregnant, right?"
Um, no relative stranger/ council woman, I would not. *Goes home and burns empire waist top.
I don't know if it's just a small-town phenomenon or if it's specific to where I am or maybe just something that goes along with being 23, but since I've arrived here, the activity of my womb has been an apparently acceptable conversation topic in more instances than I'm comfortable with.
The women at my office seem especially anxious to induct me into their ranks of motherhood.
Seemingly innocuous comments such as, "I'm a little tired," "I could really go for a sandwich," or "Hey look, a spider!" prompt exclamations of "OMG! You're pregnant!"
I've tried explaining that I don't plan on having kids anytime soon. But my protestations of debt, long-distance/not-interested-in-having-kids boyfriend, serious health risks (like death), or you know, the fact that I don't feel like it right now, are, for the most part met with a quick blink and: "But you're the perfect age to start having babies!"
Ohhhhh. The perfect age, well, when you put it that way...No.
Posted by Sarah at 8:00 AM