Yet Another Pregnancy Scare

I went to visit my grandma in Hervey Bay this morning. She lives in an aged-care facility where she gets her own room and bathroom, catered meals and the occasional social event. So it's kind of like living at college. But different.

I walked into her room and gave the old lady a hug. And then my grandma says, in her slightly impertinent but loving way, a remark which pretty much suggested that I looked pregnant.

In fact, that's pretty much what she said. "Kristen, you look pregnant."

Nice to see you too, Grandma. What a big mouth you've got.

This is not the first time someone has suggested that I could be pregnant. Some of you might remember the incident on the New York subway in 2010 when a very nice gentleman did the very nice gentlemanly deed of offering me his seat. When I refused profusely, the very nic'e gentleman punched himself in the face by saying, "but you're pregnant, right?"

Um, that would be a 'no', you Yankie douche-canoe.

So when my granda dropped the P-word, I jumped to the same conclusion that I did that day on the subway.

I. Am. Fat.

But I know this not to be true because I've been watching The Biggest Loser which is an excellent way to gain a realistic perspective about one's quality of life. Therefore, I am resigned to the fact that I am not fat if -

I can jump from the ground to the bottom step of the stairs.

I can climb the stairs.

The people at my local McDonalds don't know me by name, license plate or the order I place at the drive-through window.

I can get my heart rate over 100 without throwing a tantrum.

My legs and my ankles are too different things.

But in all seriousness, obesity is a troublesome issue and watching The Biggest Loser does remind me of that. And also that I am a flippity-jibbit for all those times I've stared in the mirror wishing a few kilograms would miraculously slide off my arms and stomach. I am not fat and frankly, thinking I am fat and all the self-flagellation that goes along with it requires more energy than it does to go for a run in the afternoon.

This is what went through my head in the five seconds between when my grandma said, "Kristen, you look pregnant" and when I snapped too and realised that I am not fat. And definitely not pregnant.

However, to my grandma's credit, I did look like I was pregnant. I blame this whole-heartedly on the frumpy and misguiding camisole I was wearing from Gap. The kind of camisole with an elastic band around the middle, which while giving me a defined waist, puffed out a little too much around my gut (and not in the 'concealing a multitude of sins' kind of way).

The kind of camisole that would have my picture splashed across the glossip mags if I was anyone of any importance, with a headline that screamed, 'KH - carrying the next immaculate conception'.

The kind of camisole which is definitely getting ceremoniously burnt tomorrow.

KH.