Momnesia

Men are really really stupid creatures

So I'm stuck at the front desk again, helping customers, because there is no Visitor Specialist scheduled on Mondays, and the other two employees are just too damn important (in their own minds) to lend a hand in helping either answer phones or deal with customers. That I'm doing two jobs, and this task puts me into a third job category, does not concern them.

Two older men lumber around the gift shop for awhile, making flirtatious small talk, as men of their generation often when away from their wives. Having waited tables so long that I have permanent pinch-marks embedded in my ass, I'm accustomed to this. So I laugh and do my best to keep them from noticing that my skin is actually crawling - like, away from them. Off my body.

I focus on something else that I know men generally like: football. One of the men has on Green Bay Packers socks, so I compliment him. His eyebrows wiggles. "I also have Packers skivvies." I laugh, a little less convincingly. He makes a joke about having an elephant, do I want to see his trunk? I pretend to hear the fax machine go off and run behind the filing cabinets to check it.

When I return, he says, "I don't want to seem like I'm leering, but I see you have a tattoo. What does it say?" The tattoo is on the lower left portion of my chest. It didn't used to be on my boob, but my boobs have gotten bigger since I got pregnant. I grin and reply, "It says, 'Don't get a tatoo until you're at least 30, because at 19 you don't know what you're doing.'" He stares at the tattoo - my fault for placing it there, so I really can't complain - and then at my face. "How old are you?" he asks. "I'm 31," I reply, reluctantly. "You got that tattoo when you were 19?!" he exclaims. "Wow, there's no sag to it at all."

Blogger's Note: Yes, I let them live, but after reviewing this post nearly a year later, I can't believe I did.