Public Domain

I'm edible. Get over it.

I understand that by choosing to have a baby I've made myself into L.A.'s latest zoological curiosity. The assumption when speaking to a new mom is that that no question is too personal, no comment unjustified. I'm just supposed to don my maternal grace and answer all queries as to my body, health, and emotional state with a smile. But despite my best efforts to preserve my Queen Elizabeth sneer in the face of imbeciles, I've been thrown.

I left a voice mail for one of my tenants the other day regarding a matter of apartment business. He's an older, single man who I've only seen three or four times and our relationship is strictly professional. When he returned my call he opened with the usual pleasantries.

"So you've had your baby? I hear that labor can be up to fourteen hours!" he began.
"Yes, it can even be much longer than that, but mine wasn't so bad this time."
"Did you know that some people actually videotape the birth?"
"That's crazy." I replied, deciding not to tell him we had done just that.
"Maybe you could clear something up for me," he went on. "A friend of mine was just telling me that when women breastfeed, milk doesn't just come out of the nipple. The entire areola spurts out milk. Is that true?"

I wasn't sure how to answer. Was this still considered "small talk" or could I respond with the more appropriate reaction of calling him a sicko? Is my chest public domain simply because I'm lactating?

"Uhh...I don't have that problem." I stammered. "Now about your apartment..."

All in favor of nailing this man into a box full of dead rats say, 'aye.'