Fat or Pregnant? A Mathematical and Moral Dilemma

Last week, someone asked me how many weeks pregnant I was. It is not an outrageous question, given my size and the fact that at the time I was in an OBGYN office (annual lady-parts exam). And it has happened before so I wasn’t all that fazed by it (first time it happened? That memory is seared into my mind it was so disturbing). For one brief second I considered just throwing a number out there because well, I could easily get away with being pregnant (size and location, see above) but I suck at doing math in my head. I mean, yes, I know a pregnancy lasts nine months and I know there are four weeks in a month but I just could not calculate fast enough what a believable number would be. Fifteen weeks? Thirty weeks? Fifty weeks? What is nine times four? Another reason I contemplated lying was because I have noticed how embarrassed the asker gets when they realize they’ve made such a mortifying assumption. But my crappy math skills let me down and I had to answer that no, I am not pregnant, just fat. And then I patted my stomach - WTF?!!