Would you people just get the fuck out of my way? Really, we’d all be much happier. Do you not see the orange “slow-moving vehicle” triangle on the back of my shirt? Did you somehow miss the “Wide Load” banner across my belly?
Well, they’re there, if only implied. It should be fucking obvious that I’m having enough problems getting around without trying to navigate the normal-sized-person hole you left between you and that wall/post/other person/display. And another thing—because my fingers have turned into snack-sized sausages, I will drop whatever I’m carrying on the floor, from whence retrieval will take me approximately 10 minutes, so just stay the fuck out of the hallways at the office, too.
How, you ask, is all this your fault? It just is, dammit. So fuck you.
Oh, and while you’re at it, I am aware I am a (barely) mobile freak show, so spare me the cute knowing smiles and the unsolicited comments. I do not believe you really care how I’m feeling, I know I do not care about your friend/sibling/cousin who’s knocked up or who had twins, and frankly, if I had the energy, I’d just as soon kill you as look at you.
So unless I know you and like you, please just go back to your useless, pathetic excuse for a life and leave me alone. Thanks for your cooperation.
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5 comments:
Hey can I rub your belly?
Go ahead and try. I assure you while I may look like Buddha, I am nowhere near zen.
Oh, and welcome. Thanks for stopping by--I'd offer you a cup of tea if I felt like standing up.
Excellent. Your temperment is juuuuuust right. You are now ready.
Will you please write a presidential-race analysis for Flipside? Full of raw hate and crazy pregnant-lady rage? We'll pay you in delicious Funyons. How 'bout it?
bwah-ha-ha-ha...
I'll be taking notes during the debate tonight. Order extra Funyons.
Wow. If I see a pregnant lady coming towards me, I'm crossing the street.
*scared*
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