Earlier that night:
"It's different for girls," I say. They're debating instant gratification and popcorn. "Girls have to justify their wants. Boys can just take it with no guilt." The boys don't get it; the sole girl is nodding her head in agreement.
___
Later that night:
"Are you pregnant still, or have you hatched yet?"
"Excuse me?" I hope I hope I hope haven't heard him correctly.
"Are you pregnant still, or have you hatched yet?"
O, how I have prepared for this moment. O, how I have heard friends lament their own experiences with some version of this question. O, how I have pondered what the most perfect response could be. O, how that preparation flies out of my head as my vision and thought process is blurred by the fiery destruction of my self-esteem.
"Neither," I glare. (In my head, I smile widely and say, "I'm just fat," even though I'm not, which is why I don't. In my head, I say, "Even if that bitch is crowning, you never suggest a lady might look even the slightest bit knocked up." In my head, I throw his drink in his face and point to the exit. In my head, I scream). The man of the hour says that I can slap him, if I want to.
That won't be necessary. I've just been slapped hard enough for the both of us.