I'M NOT PREGNANT, I'M JUST FAT.

You have your good days.

You have your bad days.

Then you have those days where someone asks you if you’re pregnant when you’re not.

There’s an older lady that lives near me. Short, chubby little thing with a nasally voice and outdated eyeglasses that are so big, they could easily be mistaken for goggles used to ski down Colorado’s finest slopes. Every step she takes dictates the direction in which her tightly-curled red mullet sways. Left foot, it fluffs to the left. Right foot, somehow both slowly AND quickly fluffs to the right.

I see her often. We smile and wave, but nothing more, nothing less. Never a conversation besides from a sweet and occasional ‘hello’. Until the other day when she and her mullet walked by my house as I was getting in my car.

Lady Mullet slows as she approaches. “Am I correct in thinking you’re expecting?” She says as her mullet whips in the wind. It takes me a moment to chew and swallow her words. I politely, and wearing a shirt that I have to burn now, say to her “Nope. I was nine months ago though.” Followed by a smile to cover up how much I want to ugly cry.

I kept it together pretty well. I very well could’ve descended from my car, hooved her in her oval office, and ran over her precious hair that she’s disgustingly proud of. But no. I remained collected and majestic, like a Clydesdale horse’s mane, swaying in the breeze from the mountain’s brisk air.

I won’t lie to you, I was a tall glass of emotions. They would change like the seasons. Unfazed turned to humble. Humble turned to embarrassment. Embarrassment turned into sadness. And then back around to unfazed. A cycle of emotions. But all in all, I found it humorous and laughed it off.

Until it gets worse. Buckle up assholes, it’s gunna be a bumpy ride.

She says to me, “Oh, just haven’t lost the baby weight yet?”

I didn’t even have time to explain to her that I was fifteen pounds lighter than before I was even pregnant. My fans wouldn’t wait much longer. I could hear the crowd chanting my name. Beads of sweat fall from my forehead as my theme song comes on. It was a live action WWE Wrestling match on 39th Avenue in Columbus, Nebraska right now. I didn’t even give my fans time to soak in my glory as I ran straight into the ring. I grabbed that wrinkly whore by the red cotton candy on top of her head and kicked her square in the tiddies. She was done. But I wasn’t. I got out of the ring as the crowd roared louder than my adreneline was coursing through my body. I grabbed a table from under the ring, and flung it onto the mat, narrowly missing her as she’s trying to regain her footing. I draped that wrinkly bag of bones over my shoulder like a wet towel, climbed up the ladder, and fucking BODYYY SLAMMMMMMED her into the table. The crowd, I’m not kidding, the crowd went nuts. The entire town was quaking with fear and excitement.

But what I actually did was got in my car and smiled at her awkwardly as I drove away.