Carry a riding crop (or, failing that, a flyswatter) Myra.
I probably would've reacted similarly to that cashier, at least with a yelp and a backhand to their reaching meathooks. But I seem to put off a lot of people from touching my belly (being 5'11" and capable of switching from Disneyland Cheerful to Looming and Glowering in a split second helps). My fellow (female!) coworkers are (grudgingly) allowed to touch my belly. Relatives have an unspoken invite. Strangers, especially male strangers, better watch their sweaty little mitts around my tummy.
One of these days, I shall make a Cafepress shirt that says "I'm pregnant, not produce."
I probably would've reacted similarly to that cashier, at least with a yelp and a backhand to their reaching meathooks. But I seem to put off a lot of people from touching my belly (being 5'11" and capable of switching from Disneyland Cheerful to Looming and Glowering in a split second helps). My fellow (female!) coworkers are (grudgingly) allowed to touch my belly. Relatives have an unspoken invite. Strangers, especially male strangers, better watch their sweaty little mitts around my tummy.
One of these days, I shall make a Cafepress shirt that says "I'm pregnant, not produce."


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