Time to Make the Donuts

Some of you may remember the donut commercial from 90s where the chubby, balding guy gets out of bed at absurdly early hours of the morning with the mantra "time to make the donuts". Most days, I have no donuts to make even though I have been waking up between three and five for no good reason. On Friday, however, I do have a reason to be up this early as I have been making challah (braided egg bread) for the local pseudo-kosher grocery store.

I am a procrastinator, though, so I decided to blog before starting the dough (why do today what you can put off until tomorrow?).

What is it with women who want to comment on belly size? I totally don't get it. I had this exchange with a clerk at Zeller's (Canada's Kmart) yesterday:

Clerk: (noticing that I had too many items to carry comfortably) Honey, you should take a buggy out to the parking lot. you don't have to carry all that stuff. you have enough to carry in that belly!
Me: Oh gee, maybe. I have to go to the fabric store first (in the same mall).
Clerk: So, any day now?
Me: No, actually I have 8 more weeks.
Clerk: Whoa. It's going to be a big one then!

Now, most of these women are grandmother-age and presumably have been pregnant themselves. Have they forgotten that at the later stages of pregnancy, one feels like a mammoth without extraneous comments? Not to mention the fact that I have yet to meet a woman who wants to be accused of being gigantic. Ugh. I guess this just falls in the Note-To-Self category.

Dear Self,

When you get old, don't tell pregnant women how huge they are.

Love,
Self

I realize this has become a recurring theme on this blog, but what's a pregnant girl to do besides complain a little bit in cyberspace?

Well, it is indeed time to make the donuts. Later on, our new bed will be delivered and I plan on spending at least 12 hours out of the next twenty-four sleeping.