Pop Secret: Decoded

Just so everyone knows, there are no Pop Secrets in my microwave. There are are no buns in the oven. I have no plans to sue Trojan.

"Ms. Robinson, are you pregnant?"

And no, small children in my classes, I am NOT pregnant.

"Stop walking around like that." Amy, my boss, was looking at me from behind her desk at one end of the classroom.

"Like what?" I had stopped reflexively, mid-walk to the back room where I planned to indulge in just a few minutes of morbid-romantic-fang-fantasy before the 12 o'clock session started. Amy cocked one eyebrow at me.

"Why do you keep holding your stomach like that?"

I looked down. My hands were clasped in front of me, pressed across my abdomen.

"...I don't know. What are you talking about?"

"The kids keep asking me if you're pregnant." She waved her finger at me and pointed. "You need to stop doing that."

"Ugh! Do I look pregnant to you?"

"I don't know, stop touching yourself like you're holding something in and maybe you won't."

"Fine." I grumbled, continuing my walk back to my book, "I'll try to stop looking pregnant. I guess." And I thought, dear God, do I really look that fat?

Amy's comment actually made me think of something that had happened to me just this time last year. I was student teaching at Murray Middle, and one of my eighth graders who was full of good jokes came running by while I was on hall duty.

"Hey, Ms. Robinson! When's the baby due!"

Shocked, I could only gape and cover my mouth, half laughing.

"Kevin!" Ms. Woodridge was always one of those teachers who could yell all day and never go hoarse. "Kevin, get back here! That was rude and totally insensitive!" She had a pointy nose, cropped blonde hair, and she made sure Kevin knew he was a rude little brat the entire time I taught with her. But by the time she got him back to me so she could yell in full force, I was laughing with more intensity than I felt insecure.

The whole thing became a joke, and Kevin brought it up at random intervals the entire time I taught him. I always laughed, but I still didn't understand the origin of the joke.

Today as I was walking around making sure all the kids were working, and occasionally telling them to shut up, I noticed myself doing it. I was walking around "like that." I was resting my hands on my stomach, just above the button of my pants. And suddenly it all clicked for me. I was holding my hands like that only because I don't like to cross my arms.

Why don't I like crossing my arms?

Because when I cross my arms... my boobs look huge.

I tested the theory, crossing my arms for a few seconds.

Yep. I was uncomfortable that way. Cleavage peeked out of the top of my shirt just tad, making me hyper aware of my chest. And naturally reacting, my hands went back to a clasp at my waist.

Damn!

The only reason Kevin and all these kids had ever thought I was pregnant was because I was insecure about my chestal region.

Go figure.