A good friend and I went out this morning to check out a consignment shop that I had read about in the paper. GF (good friend) and I dropped the kids off at camp and hauled it down the road to VA Beach in search of a Starbucks and what promised to be some good finds at this place called “The Knapsack.”
The GPS had me taking all of these twists and turns, every which-a-way off of the interstate to get to this shopping center. We spotted the Starbucks, a veritable oasis in the midst of the burgeoning commercial sprawl, and hightailed in there for some quad half caf venti 3 pump vanilla 3 pump hazelnut soy extra hot no foam with whip and cinnamon sprinkles lattes. Did I say hold the whip?
Anyway, as we are on the clock — camp ends at noon and we’re a good 30 minutes away — we head back to the car, drinks in hand to find this place. GPS says we’re here. Google Maps (thanks, iPhone) says we’re here. We can’t find this place. No worries, we just call it up and the nice lady on the phone says, “Oh, I’m diagonal from Starbucks”. Cool; we “U-turn” it over and through the parking lot and pull up to the store. Out front, there’s a nice sandwich sign proclaiming our favorite word — SALE!! Sweet!
We go in the store and are immediately greeted by the owner/clerk. She must have hit up the ‘bucks, too, because she’s talking, talking, talking, fast, fast, fast! She told us about her friends new store that sells upscale women’s consignments. She told us about her kids. She told us about why she was in this particular suite in the development as opposed to another. She told us everything but her social security number and ATM password.
Now, I don’t really like to shop — no, really — but when I’m ready to, as I was today, I want to be left to my own devices. No hovering, no shadowing, none of that. Please! Just let me browse at my leisure. GF is of the same mindset, but it wasn’t meant to be. We began picking through the items in the store, giving half-hearted, “Uh-huh’s,” and “Oh, really’s” as this woman kept talking. And talking. And talking.
Eventually some other customers came in and the clerk glommed onto them with her questions, non-sequitors and anecdotes.
For the most part, it looked like this trip was going to be a total bust. “The Knapsack” had a lot of stuff, just not the stuff we were looking for. GF did score a pair of Lily Pulitzer pants for her kiddo at a decent price. We thumbed through the books, picked over the shoes, scanned the DVDS and toys. Maybe we were just here on an off day.
We make our way to the register and GF hands the clerk the cute pants. The clerk rings her up and then hands her one of those ubiquitous “Frequent Customer” cards — you know, buy 10 things and get 1 at 10% off or some such. The clerk asks GF for her information so that GF can receive all kinds of good discounts and assorted junk spam in her email. GF, though, says, “No thanks, I’m getting ready to move overseas in a few weeks.”
The clerk says, “Oh wow, that’s gonna be something, what with the new baby and all!”
::::silence::::
Says GF, “I’m.not.pregnant.”
I just kept my head down and prayed that the clerk would say something simple like “Sorry” and save herself (and us) from further embarrassment.
This idiot goes on to say that the dress GF is wearing looks like a maternity dress they had in the store, something about how she (the clerk) gets that all the time, what with her being super puffy and all (LIAR! She looked pretty average to me).
The clerk starts talking about how puffy she is “because of my surgeries because I’m having a hysterectomy in a few days” and on and on and on and shove, shove, shove that foot farther into her mouth.
She tears off the receipt, hands it to GF and says, “Have a nice day!”
Right, because you assuming my friend her is preg-tastic just put the cherry on it.
GF was ever so gracious, but I know that her feelings were hurt. I did my best to buffer her up, but really, that’s a tough one. I just can’t believe the nerve of some people.
So, dear readers, let this be a lesson to you and one to share with your nearest and dearest. Never, never, NEVER ask a woman if she’s pregnant.
Ever!
Not even if you heard it from her husband/boyfriend/lover/sperm donor/whomever!
Don’t.
Even if you see the baby crowning between the woman’s legs, don’t ask her if she’s pregnant!
Tell her she looks gorgeous and keep on moving.
