oh, no she didn't

I like to play this game while I'm walking around Jersey City. It's called Pregnant or Obese, and it's pretty straightforward. I spot a woman in the vicinity who qualifies (read: is hefty in the front quarters) and I spend a few moments trying to guess whether she's pregnant or just really, unfortunately fat in all the wrong places.

Of course there's no true resolution to the game, because I don't actually ask the women if they're expecting or just on their way to the McGinley Square Dunkin Donuts. And there have been some that really left me with a big question mark, like the woman whose breasts were collectively the exact same size as her heinously protruding belly. This would typically indicate pregnancy, but she was also drinking malt liquor from a can in a paper bag.

Although that could be equally irrelevant to the discussion, really.

Am I a bad person? Maybe. But I don't openly stare (I wear sunglasses, obviously) and it's not like I'm pointing and snickering. And sometimes, I get mine. Because really, it would be better just not to look at all at some of these grotesque ladies. Like the one I eyed today on the way to the grocery store, whose stretch-mark covered stomach was coming out of an RIP MJ tee shirt with black and silver glitter letters.

My retinas have not stopped burning.


cheers,
elizabeth