The Question Not To Ask

"I'm pregnant," I giggle over the phone.

"What?" says my husband, knowing how impossible this statement just is. He thinks a little and says, "With whose baby?"

"The hairdresser's." I'm bent over double. I start to relate the following story.

I'm not a fancy girl. I'm low maintenance. No frills. Plain Jane. I haven't had my hair cut in, like, forever. I needed a little spruce up before the holidays - just so those Christmas photos aren't totally disturbing. Not being a regular at any salon, I flit freely from place to place. No commitment. Just drop in, trim the edges, fly off. I like it that way. Don't start making me appointments six weeks in advance, thank you. I'm good to come and go as I please.

I drifted by a seemingly quiet salon - they looked like they might be able to mow the lawn before school came out, so I asked for a quick cut. They could do it - great!

All washed and waiting at the mirror, the hairdresser approaches. She has a tender, almost motherly look in her eyes. "Would you like a cupcake, dear?" she croons.

"Er, no thanks, just a trim, that's all."

She smiles.

"So how far is it?" she is dripping honey.

"Excuse me?" I ask, thinking that she may be talking about the length of my hair.

"Your pregnancy," she insists, "how far along are you?"

I just crack up on the inside, but then I'm faced with a bit of a dilemma - do I lie to make her feel better ie "4 months, thanks for asking, and I'm feeling fabulous!", or just come out with the truth. I can't lie like that.

"Er," I break eye contact with her reflection in the mirror, "I'm not pregnant."

Of course this ruins the rest of my visit with outrageously awkward silences to follow.

At one point she tried to make up for it by saying that she just thought, you know, because of the shirt I was wearing, well, it's such a lovely shirt (liar! it's a crap shirt!) and where did I get it from? I lie back. I can't remember where I got the shirt, I say (Pick 'n Pay on the half price sale rack). I lie because the truth would just make her feel more stupid about saying it's such a nice shirt. And anyway, are you completely dof? What kind of 'very lovely shirt' makes a slightly podgey woman look pregnant? Only bad shirts. That's it! NOTE TO SELF: burn shirt with immediate effect!

Of course, I got a pretty decent haircut out of the deal - I think if she'd screwed up it would have been a really tough pill to swallow.

But that question: How far are you? or When's your due date? These questions should be banned in ALL unfamiliar company. Even if the overdue woman is puffing and panting through her contractions and she's standing in a puddle of amniotic fluid in the queue at the bank, any strangers in the immediate vicinity should make light conversation only. Talk about the weather, for Pete's sake. Look the other way. You really can't be sure she's pregnant, can you? Whatever you do, don't ask the question until she drops the baby on the floor. Because the day will come, dearhearts, when that puffing panting woman is actually having an athsma attack, or that puddle of amniotic fluid is the result of an incontinent bladder, and wouldn't that be embarrassing for all concerned?

When I got home I changed my shirt. I stood in front of the mirror for a bit. I turned to the left. I turned to the right. I even turned my back to the mirror and wondered if the new shirt made my bum look pregnant. After all that self-examination, all I can say is: I have a tummy. Sure. My pelvic bones which used to proudly poke my waist band pre-kids have long ago been buried. But appearing pregnant? No! My tummy is way too weird shaped to be housing a bonny baby. Unless that baby was shaped like a Toblerone and half a BigMac, and the Toblerone had melted a bit.

Sigh.