Is She or Isn't She?

It happened to me the other day.
At the grocery store.
By two dudes, no less.
The question, whispered betwixt them, was, "Is she pregnant?"
GASP!
The answer, of course, is "Ummm. . .NO!"
Not for a while now. Sure, I'm still carrying around some (a lot) of baby weight.
OK, maybe that's not such a valid excuse anymore, since my "baby" is busy planning his eighth birthday party. Star Wars, in case you were wondering, which he assures me is going ot be "wicked good!" But still, did they really have to go there?
Those two ass-hats totally ruined my day. My week. My life.
And do you want to know the worst part? I let them.
I let those douchbags (who btw, were two dudes in cowboy boots buying diet Coke and Lean Cuisine - just sayin') effect how I thought about myself.
What the hell kind of brain fart was that?
OK, so Brokeback thought I was pregnant. So what? Am I? No. Do I look like it? Possibly.
Yes, I'm fat. I get it. I'm OK with that because I'm working on it. I'm not just setting around on my non-pregnant ass.
And the next time I see those guys around town hopefully they will realize just how awesome I am. They better recognize. And failing that; I've been working out and I don't care to hit a dude.