Snip. Snip. “What age is your wee one then?” Snip. “Coming two and a half”. Snip. Snip. Snip. “They’re some craic at that age” “Aye, indeed”. Snip. “Do you have any children yourself?” “No”. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. Snip. “What if I take another inch off the ends for you?” Snip. Snip. “Sorry?” “What about another inch off the end?” “Sure”
[later that evening]
Chat. Chat. “It’s a lovely party” [I still can’t believe I said that] “Yeah, it’s all confirmations and christenings with us at the moment”. “Good stuff, how are you enjoying your retirement?” “Very well. I’m just taking things at my leisure. And what about yourself? Aren’t you due sometime soon?” “Sorry?” “Aren’t you due in a few months?” “Ah, you must be thinking of my Sister-in-law….”
[earlier that day]
“No”. Snip. Snip.
Shit. What do I say? I know fuck all about this woman. What can I possibly say? Think, woman, think. I hate this small talk shit. Maybe she’s cool with it. Who am I to be volunteering on behalf of her private possibly non-existent disappointment. She’s what? late 40s? Maybe that was her plan. What do I know. What if it wasn’t? She must get this 50 times a day. And I only asked because it seemed like she probably had, and because I used to hate it when no-one asked me when I had none. As much as I hated it when they did ask me. I bet her thought bubble is urging my thought bubble to hurry the fuck up and say something. I’m going to have to think of something else to talk about.
“What if I take another inch off the ends for you?”
She did a great job of my hair.
[later that evening]
“Ah, you must be thinking of my Sister-in-law….”
*automatically sucks tummy in* Who the fuck heard that? *furtive glance around* Phew. I fucking knew it. And I can’t even blame this ridiculous floaty top. Just keep talking because this poor woman is mortified and I’d die if I were in her shoes. Don’t worry, love, we’ve all been there. Well, only once in my case when I thought it would be rude not to ask a hairdresser if she was due soon after maintaining a lifetime’s indifference to in-my-face bumps/women panting/asking me to get them towels/moaning about having a baby etc., just to be on the safe side. A sorry lesson followed by a tense 20 minute haircut, made worse by forgetting my purse and enduring an excruciating polite-off when both of us just wanted the ground to open up and swallow us whole. Like the ground was 89 months pregnant. Like a hump-back bridge. And now it’s my turn. Just talk this woman to death and move on, and hopefully I’ll get some of that Malteser cheesecake knocking about without her noticing.
“…Yeah, she’s due at the end of the month. Her other one is all excited, waiting for the new wee baby brother or sister. You know yourself. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah de fucking blah.”
The cheesecake was lovely.
Oh cringe, cringe. I have a friend who never learns, and twice in a short space of time she did this.
Unless a woman was delivering and I could see the baby I’d not ask “when are you due?”.
I’ve looked at that question from both sides now. It’s hard not to feel double the morto for the person asking.
Yeah, but what’s really bad is when someone asks when you’re due and you haven’t even figured out you are actually pregnant!!!! That’s Major Denial…..and unquestioning acceptance when the consultant says you won’t have kids. Huh! Experts…..what do they know????
Crikey, weebluebirdie – did this happen you? Hope not. But yeah – experts schmexperts (that last word is difficult, but fun, to say)
Umm…yup!! It’s a long daft story best told over a couple of pints!! Damn short pregnancy though 🙂
Holy smokes. I’ve gotta hear that some time. There was a headline in the paper yesterday about a woman going into labour without realising she was pregnant. This also happened the singer from Irish band, Ham Sandwich, if you get a chance to Google.
I hope happy ending compensated for the shock!
Well, at least the penny dropped for me at about 24 weeks! I suddenly got very pregnant. It was the wriggling alien in my tummy which finally clinched it!
That’s mad, Ted.