At the Boylston Street Trader Joe's last week....
Checker: And would you like paper or plastic?
Me: Oh, I brought my own bag, thanks!
Checker: Great! And, how will you be paying, credit or debit?
Me: (taking out wallet) Credit
Checker: (looking at me) You've got a pregnant...
Me: (to self) Oh.My.God. If he even says I am pregnant?! I know after my depression starvation I've put on a little more weight, but really, I've been doing crunches. Is my shirt to tight? I need to clean out my clothes. And hold in my belly! But really, I could be pregnant. I really only have a limited time frame left anyway...but why does this guy need to be telling me that? I think he has an accent. Maybe it's a cultural difference and it's okay that he's saying this. Oh, God. I think I'm going to cry! I'm not pregnant! I'm turning bright red, I can feel it! I've got to get out of here. This is so embarrassing.
Checker: (finishing sentence) ...wallet.
Me: (to self, relieved) Oh. The George Costanza wallet.
Checker: Have a great night!
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