Expecting?

God, it's really fucking hot outside. So hot, i'm contemplating retiring my hair straightener. Sooo hot, wearing underwear has become a chore. Sooo fucking hot, i've started sweating underneath my boobs, and it aiiiiin't pretty.

What is one to do when waiting for the subway in the most humid, rancid, 105 degree underground heat?

I bought a dress. It cost me $22 at Forever 21 and it is the most perfect summer dress for activities including but not limited to working, churning butter, calling out sick and easy access sexual activity.

Problem: It's mighty boobalicious (2nd mention of BOOBS!) and in return forces every nasty, nasty man in Times Square and Woodside, Queens to look me up and down and throw out a "HEEEEY MAAAAMI!" or if i'm lucky, a "HEEEEY SEXY MAMI!".

It's a love/hate relationship.
On one hand, my bod must be looking mighty sexy. I'm not as grotesquely obese as I imagine! hoorah and hooray!
On the other, i feel like these stinky mexican/homeless/hallucinating admirers are touching their penises and thinking of me:The boob-sweating Jewish girl extraordinaire!

This was what happened on Saturday afternoon. I pranced all over town in my dress, being cat called and hating it but secretly loving it. No need to feel guilty about those 17 brownies I ate last night! The 39th street homeless man with half-dead dog and negative 18 teeth thinks i look great. Might as well supersize that #3! Mmmmmm

As the afternoon turned into evening, I decided to head home and prepare for my evening festivities. I stopped into my local grocer to pick up some berries and milk and such, and headed to the cash register, still feelin' hot and sexy and basically like Murray Hill's Next Top Model.

"Hey, how are you today?" asks 19 year old braided-haired register man.

"I'm really good, thanks!" - meeeee

Register Man- stares at my stomach region

Me- feeling weiiiiird. feeling reallllllly weird.

Reg-Man "Aw... so you're expecting, huh?"

Me- "Umm...no? Yeah, no i'm not pregnant."

Reg-Man "Ahhhhhhhhh shit, im so sorry"

Me- "Uhhhh, yeah it's okay. I just drink a lot of beer, I guess.

Reg-Man "Daaaaaaaaaaamn girl. How much beer do you drink?"

I paid for my fucking fat free food items and ran home and cried in my bed for seven minutes.

Then I called 3 friends, all who proceeded to tell me that they have been mistaken for preggers before, and to calm the fuck down and that it was probably just my super-in-style-pregnantesque-dress.

Anyone want to buy a dress? 10 dolla!