Well, I have to say that yesterday was…interesting. There are actually a lot of words that I could use to encompass some of my feelings yesterday. Stressful. Anxious. Thankful. Honored. Humbled. Proud. Worried. And finally, embarrassed.
Let me back up and explain. I’ve mentioned before that I have a thing with needles, blood and hospitals. You know, all of those things that I’m going to be facing myself in less than 10 weeks…but I digress. So I have this thing. On a normal, everyday basis it doesn’t cause me any major problems…except the time that I passed out while trying to drive my daughter (who had cracked her head open) to the emergency room. Once again, I’m off topic. When Brent met with his normal VA doctor a few weeks back, and she wanted to order some tests before trying to diagnose the symptoms that he was describing, we knew that he would have to go to the closest VA hospital, which happens to be in Temple. I offered to try to get the time off so that I could be there with him during the tests, and he was grateful for my offer and only asked me to do it if it didn’t cause any problems for me at work.
I arranged to have the day off, and away we went. I was really anxious and nervous. #1 because I’m headed to a place that I don’t like to go – the hospital. There’s just too many things going on there that I don’t want to know about or see face-to-face. #2 because I’m worried about what the test results might show. It could be something really minor, or it could go the other route and lean towards something more major. #3 because I’ve never been to a VA hospital, but logic tells me that I’m about to see some serious stuff. And since I don’t do well with regular hospitals…well, you can imagine my state of mind.
Imagine my surprise when I discover that the VA Hospital was no different than other hospitals that I’ve been to. Many of the Veterans there were probably Veterans from WWII, which made some of them quite old, and interesting to sit and visit with to say the least. I struck up a very pleasant conversation with a lady from a few towns over that drives Veterans to their appointments from her local hometown – what a great way to spend part of your retired days! She was QUITE a character, and helped keep my mind off of what was going on back in the exam room, which I wasn’t allowed to go into due to it being an X-ray room and my current condition of being almost 8 months pregnant.
Once he was finished with his tests, the first order of business was food. He had been slightly grouchy all day long because his appt was scheduled for 10:30am and was not allowed to eat anything after 6pm the previous night. I felt horrible for eating in front of him, but being pregnant, I really didn’t have a choice. We immediately left the VA and headed for one of our favorite restaurants – BJ’s. They have great beer, wonderfully delicious pizzas and the most sinful dessert on the face of the planet – the pizzookie. Yummy, yummy, yummy.
Off we headed, and since we were after the lunch rush (yes, the VA hospital operates on its own schedule!) we were seated right away. After a few minutes our waitress came up and introduced herself and took our drink orders. Brent also ordered an appetizer (a man’s got to eat!) and we settled down to decide on our main course. Our waitress came back and dropped off our drinks and took our order. When she left, Brent commented on the fact that she was friendly. Like really friendly. Like more flirty than friendly.
Since he’s a good-looking guy, I’m used to this and commented something to the effect that I must not even notice anymore when girls hit on him…to which he started laughing. He was laughing because apparently she was flirting with ME.
Me. The one who’s 30 weeks pregnant. And sitting with her husband in a booth. And we’re sitting close, not on opposite sides.
I immediately tell him that the barium that they made him drink at the hospital must be affecting his brain and brush him off. But over the course of the next few trips that she made back to our table, I had to admit that he was right. She was hitting on me. HITTING on ME. And not like just a little bit, but being all out in the open about things.
We watched how she was with her other two tables, thinking maybe she was just really friendly (yes, that was my suggestion). But nope. She wasn’t being like this with anyone else. Just me.
It was all little things, but glaringly obvious once I was attuned to it. She only really spoke to me. She gave me the “look” more than once, and I’m not talking about that look that I give to Brent when he’s in trouble…you know the look that I’m talking about! And she did it over and over and over. To the point where I had to admit that he was right and reluctantly admit that she was hitting on me. Much to his delight.
So here’s my question for you: How would you have handled this?
I mean, I’m almost 8 months pregnant…clearly showing…I’m sitting with my husband at lunch (where we’ve smooched a few times since sitting down)…I’m wearing a wedding ring, as is he…I don’t know how to more clearly state that I’m not looking. For a man or a woman, just to be clear.
I don’t know about you, but I just kept my head down and tried my hardest to not look at her. I mean, I didn’t want to encourage her any more, right? When she came over, I wouldn’t look up, I let Brent answer all of her questions, and I did my best to scoot a bit closer to him just to be extra clear.
But by the end of the meal, she still hadn’t gotten the message. When she asked if she could box up our leftovers, Brent told her yes. She asked if we wanted to also take our leftover mozzarella sticks and I immediately answered “Yes, please. Our kids love them.” while silently congratulating myself and patting myself on the back all at the same time for the stroke of genius to let her know that I wasn’t interested. Yeah, she didn’t get that hint either.
When she brought our leftovers back, all boxed up, she asked us about dessert and by that point I was just ready to leave. (Yes, Brandi, I didn’t even WANT a pizzookie at that point!) She asked us about dessert while clearing off our plates, and Brent politely told her that we didn’t have room for anything else.
She was stacking up her tray when he capped off that response with a remark about how the appetizer had ruined our dessert appetite. She picked up her tray and began to walk away right when he mentioned that he must have been having a sympathy pregnancy craving over the mozzarella sticks.
She was already several steps away from our table when what he said really sunk in. I kid you not – she stopped in her tracks and waited a moment while obviously processing what he’d just said. Then she came BACK to our table and said “You’re pregnant?!?!?” in the most depressed and shocked voice you can imagine.
I leaned back and rubbed my belly to show it off…and it’s not that big some days, I’ll give you that, but it’s pretty obvious that I’m pregnant. Well, I have to admit that I was wearing a black t-shirt and the booth was also black, so I guess that she might not be able to see as clearly as if I were standing or something.
I told her that I was due at the end of July and she went on and on about how she couldn’t even tell that I was pregnant. (Which was just further proof for Brent how hard she’d been checking me out!) Then she sealed the deal and came around to the side of the booth to look at me from the side…it was easier to see that way.
Then her whole face fell into a mask of disappointment. She told me congratulations, but the joy in her eyes (or the “I’d like to buy you a drink” look) was gone. Her shoulders literally sank in a defeated pose…and it would have been funny if I hadn’t been so mortified.
Of course, my husband is just laughing away…literally rolling in the aisle with laughter. She picked up the check to go and run our card and said in the saddest voice ever that she’d be right back. Brent really tried to get me to leave my phone number or an “I’m sorry but I think that you’re still hot!” message on the ticket where we signed, but I am happy to admit that he did not get his wish.
Nor did I let him go back to the table to get whatever he “forgot” on our way out the door…I knew that he would have totally written my cell phone number down.
This was a first for me. I don’t think that I’ve been hit on before by a girl. At least not while in a restaurant with my husband while being almost 8 months pregnant. On one hand, I know that I should be flattered. And on some small scale, I am. I mean, getting hit on no matter by boy or girl should always be a compliment, right? Right. But really I was WAY more embarrassed than anything.
Like really embarrassed.