Horror of horrors

The Scene:

I'm on the subway around 6:45pm last night, a few minutes from pulling in to my station in Brooklyn. I'm standing with my back to the door, with a bag of groceries between my legs, reading a book. I see this seated woman across from me rise out of the corner of my eye. I don't know why, but I look up. She makes eye contact and asks, "Would you like to sit?"

I shake my head and say, "No thanks, I'm getting off at the next stop." I'm confused because there are a few other people standing, all of whom are closer to her than I am.

She gets up and walks over towards the doors I'm standing by. She says, "I'm getting off here too, but I just noticed you now."

I'm thinking... does she think I need to sit because I have a bag of groceries? No, that's ridiculous. Perhaps she has ESP and somehow knows that my bad ankle is bothering me inside my heeled boots? No, that's even more ridiculous. As I continue reading my book with my head down I notice my sweater. My adorable new sweater that has a little gathering at the stomach that makes it poof out a little before falling to (what I thought was) a flattering A-line cut.

And I realize with horror... this woman thinks I'm pregnant. Noticeably pregnant.

I wanted to turn to her and say "Excuse me, I appreciate your offer, but I'm not pregnant... and I'm throwing away this sweater."

But I didn't, because I know if I ever assumed someone was pregnant when they aren't I would be absolutely mortified. I don't know anyone who isn't terrified of making that mistake. So I bit my tounge with this lady standing next to me for what seemed like an hour, when in real time it was more like 30 seconds, as the train pulled into the station.

Okay, I admit, I was upset. I really love this sweater and didn't think it made me look preggers. I'd received many compliments since it's debut in my wardrobe less than 3 weeks ago, but all the complimenters know me. They are aware that I'm an unmarried child-hating void of a human who would never find herself pregnant. So they can look at just the sweater and know I'm not hiding any baby-bulge underneath. I know it's not my actual shape making me look pregnant. I may have added a few extra pounds since the ankle injury has kept me off the treadmill, but not that many. It was definitely the sweater.

But I love the sweater, and my friends love the sweater, so I'm going to keep it and continue to wear it with joy. But if someone else offers me a seat on the subway I'm sending it off to a special place to be with its elder sweater family.