The Curse of the Empire Waist

This morning, as I was standing on a crowded metro train, just around Virginia Square a man sitting in a seat to my right tapped me on the arm and asked if I'd like to have the seat. Thinking he was getting up at this stop and offering me his seat first I smiled and said 'No that's okay, I'm getting off soon.' Then he remained seated when the train stopped, not getting off, and I looked back down at my paper and realized that maybe an empire waist on a shirt that is slightly fitted is not a good fashion choice.

That's right dear readers, he thought I was pregnant. Not hugely pregnant, or the type where you're not sure if it's body fat or a baby bump hiding under there, but just early stages, starting to show, sort of pregnant. In an ironic turn of events I had already been experiencing morning sickness and thrown up all of my breakfast, but that's because the dog threw up on the kitchen floor and I had to clean it up. Puke makes me puke, especially when it smells like dog poop, which is probably what she'd been eating.

What could I do? I had already responded politely to the man and it was a crowded train, not much room to move, people had obviously heard him ask and me respond. What else to do but push out my belly a little more and pretend I was in my fourth month, or something. My secret smile had less to do with the "life growing inside me" and more to do with my amusement at the situation.

I thought it was funny, I obviously wasn't huge and so couldn't regard it as strictly an insult (even though I'm not walking around with washboard abs here) and I'd rather him offer his seat to a (truly) pregnant lady instead of being afraid to insult her. Besides, it's strange to realize that I am at an age where that possibility isn't out of the question. I think it's funny that I could actually be pregnant and people would only smile and think, 'She glows!" ( I hope.) But at the same time I don't want people to think I'm pregnant when I'm not, so the empire waist has got to go.