i was ironing my shirt this morning- its a white button-up tunic - and i started thinking about the first time i wore this particular shirt. it was memorable, i dont always remember 'the first time i wore _________' , but in this case i do.
it was a friday. i know this because at work, we have 3 o'clock break time on wednesdays and fridays, chelsea was babysitting my kids that day - i remember because she said i looked cute, and she watched the children on fridays. thats how i know.
so, at break time, my "friend", curt, asked me how many months til i was due. at that particular moment, i wanted to punch him in his face. he was kidding (i think) but still, he knew i was not pregnant, he just thinks hes funny.
curt is not a good friend.
chelsea IS a good friend because her comment was encouraging, kind, brilliant and clearly the more correct of the two.
today, i went to tell curt about my painful memory, and this is how the conversation went:
me: i was ironing this shirt this morning and thinking about the first time i wore it
curt: (interrupting) oh, when you were pregnant?
again. i would punch him in the face if he was not 12 feet tall.
when i see chelsea again, maybe she will say i look cute. i will hug her.
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