We are walking scales

A friend's husband had said that I looked good lately. Just as the corners of my mouth were turning upwards and my shoulders were contentedly turning south, an addendum followed. That it was probably because I had gained a bit of weight. Look, I was fine with part 1. Less so with part 2. Another family member, I won't provide further details, also said that since meeting my beloved, I had become a bit more May-Britt.

Aside from the fact that we're talking about at most three kilos that have been added over sixteen (SIXTEEN) years, I am surprised by a number of things. One: that you observe people like that. Because a. I haven't gained twenty kilos, for goodness' sake I still fit into size 36 so what are you talking about, and yes, I have given birth to three daughters so maybe there's a fold in my belly, and did I mention that I'm forty-five? Anyway. But b. I find it all too much to share that with the person in question. Did I ask you for an analysis of my body over the past sixteen years? That's what I mean.

Now I am happily navigating in the calm, but this week my digital pen pal Manon Meijers suddenly became the topic of conversation. Because oh la la, she is happy in love and that translates to a slightly rounder hip and bust. Then people smell blood. And a pregnancy, especially. Because 1 + 1 (happy in love and a slightly fuller cup) obviously means pregnant. So you start calling. Sure thing. No one thinks about other children, about the fertility issue, and generally about the fact that it is a personal chapter that two people write and maybe someday share with others.

I thought about the hunt for Wendy van Dijk when she seemed to be commuting between Chris Zegers and Erland Galjaard. The press was on her heels and almost demanded an explanation. Wendy refused. Because how could she officially explain something she wasn't even sure about herself? The same applies here.

Let's agree that the pregnancy issue should not be broached unsolicited and that you should only say something about someone else's body if you stumble over the superlatives.

And let's all learn from the one-liner of a business class stewardess I met recently. One of her passengers let his eyes wander from her breasts to her hips to her ankles and back again and then said (hold on, this really happened) how it came that there are only farmers“ wives working in KLM's business class nowadays. The stewardess took a breath, exhaled through her mouth and said: ”Since we transport cattle, sir.”