“Excuse me?” I thought I might not have heard him correctly. I squatted down low, my eyes even with his 3 year old head. I smiled reassuringly. “What did you say? Try again!”
“I said…. You. Are. Fat.” He took special care to enunciate each syllable clearly and then punctuated the statement with an eye roll.
I stood up, taken aback. There was no mistaking that.
“Now, you shouldn’t say that to her!” His mom looked as embarrassed as I felt, redness creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. She leaned over to me and whispered in her Southern drawl, “I’m so sorry.”
And I instantly hated her, I will admit. Here she was, having given birth to a child (I had not) and she was skinny as a toothpick. Next to her, my normal body was fat.
“Look here, you little brat! Your mom is an anorexic anomaly.”
Except I didn’t say that.
Instead I smiled and said, “Guess how many shots you get today?”
(As a side note, I have watched this kiddo grow up over the past ten years. He really is a great kid. But I still hate his mother…well, not her per se, just her metabolism.)