But, I really need to keep it real and fill you all in on the trials and tribulations of your friendly pregnant bartender. I can't hold it back. The world needs to know. I work in a fine dining restaurant. This is not a college bar. This is not a "bar bar." I don't make screaming orgasm shots or whatever the hell kinds of junk other bartenders make. I'm a little on the snotty side, to be honest. I make old fashioneds, sazeracs, and gin martinis. 85 % of the people who sit at my bar know my name and I know theirs. They're nice people who put on their big kid panties and drink real cocktails and don't go down the wine list asking me which wines are "smooth." These people know that I'm a 27 year old married woman with a college degree and a future. They think that it's fantastic that I'm pregnant and they come in excited for updates. This blog is not about those people. This is about the jerks who order 6 irish car bombs when I'm already in the weeds and the people who want to sit at my bar and drink soda water while eating free happy hour appetizers.
Fortunately, my apron camouflages my belly pretty well. So, I spent months avoiding some of the uncomfortable conversations I've had the pleasure of stomaching lately. Those first few months weren't without their moments of glory, though. There was the pregnant woman who found out that I'm pregnant from a server and tilted her head and said "oh how sad." There was a man who told me that his wife had birthed three babes and that there is "nothing to it." He kindly offered to let me come over and pay him 35 bucks and he would get the baby out for me when the time came.
As my hormone levels mount, my diplomatic sensitivities are seriously compromised. It's getting extremely difficult to put up with some of the antics of my lovely customers. The people who I would have just found somewhat annoying 9 months ago are suddenly the most awful human beings on earth. Just last night a chubby little woman who spoke in an annoying fake girly-girly high pitched voice had the audacity to say to me "My mother told me not to be rude about these things; but, are you expecting and a bartender? I love the contradiction." I replied to her that fortunately making drinks for other people doesn't have the same harmful effects as consuming them myself. That was the best I could do. I didn't pull her stupid frizzy hair. So, I did show some restraint. I didn't ask her if she often disregards her mother's advice. I just gave her my best I-really-don't-like-you-or-your-fake-girly-voice smile.
So, here's to showing restraint. Love, your favorite friendly pregnant bartender
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