It happened

The blasted stranger belly rub. Just when I thought I might be successful in giving off touch-me-and-you'll-regret-it vibes.

Werner gave me a gift certificate for a series of visits at a day spa on the east side, and today was the hair appointment. Just as I sprawled back in the very uncomfortable chair in front of the equally uncomfortable (for my neck) sink, the woman (whose name I don't even know) patted me on the belly. I was livid, but, much like a turtle on its back, couldn't do more than protest loudly. All along, I promised myself that anyone who touched me would find a hand on their own abdomens. In this case, I just couldn't do it. So instead I told her, through gritted teeth, "You're the first stranger to have the nerve to touch my belly. If I could reach you, I would do the same to you."

Just because I'm pregnant does not mean I've become public property. I know that while I'm in labour I'll have all the privacy of a siliconed attention-whore celeb, and once Bärchen is born my body will effectively be the baby's domain. But for now I'm a reasonably sentient (if emotional), well-educated woman. Anyone who touches me without my permission is, in my opinion, assaulting me. No matter that pregnant women have been enduring such unwelcome touches since heaven knows when, it is unacceptable.