In my capacity as a Queequeg’s Qoffee Qasa crew member, I have to comply with certain dress codes. Confusingly, I am neither required nor allowed to have extensive facial tattoos — however, I am required to tuck in my shirts.

In this age of low waistlines, this presents a problem, but as we are allowed to have an auxiliary tucked-in shirt under our primary shirt, not an insoluble one. Knowing my need, friend Grizelda recently gave me a hot tip: the Gap’s camisoles come in a longer, more tunic-like edition in their Gap Maternity section. Pursuant to this intelligence, I purchased two such garments and paid for them with (yes, I have one, deal) my Gap store credit card.

A week later, I was surprised to see the usual Gap e-mail (I opted in so as to scoop the sales) in my inbox, but with a cryptic subject. “The perfect outfit for your special day!” What special day? The message made it clear: my…baby shower. I bought two camisoles and now the Gap thinks I’m pregnant. I’ll be interested to see if they swap me back to Gap Women in a few months, or try to sell me baby clothes.

There are many futures, and Philip K. Dick is their prophet.


...compared to what went through my head when I found the tags from your new maternity clothes sitting around and nearly had a heart attack. Give me some warning next time. Yeesh.

As sister sledge said, “He thought you’d buy maternity clothes before telling him you were pregnant? What’s he smoking?”

You’d better tell more than Wonko before you go shopping for real maternity clothes!

In fact, to that end, I hereby enact the following addendum to my Survival of Progeny Law (which states, nonnegotiably, that I have the uncontestable right to predecease any and all of my progeny):

Ruth’s Procreation of Progeny Law: I require notification of any procreation of my progeny at least as early as any such notification of the mothers of those with whom they procreate. In addition, such notification must predate any notification of non-parental relatives, family members, friends, acquaintances, enemies, or strangers. (Medical personnel involved in the verification of procreation are exempt.)

Wow, I thought I was just imparting useful clothing wisdom. Who knew such comedy would ensue?

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