Oh, speaking of bellies....

One of the guys from the cafeteria brought in his first grandson the other day. Grandson is something like a month old (whatever age it is that they first begin to look like somebody's home) and quite adorable. He's got a shock of black hair and perfectly round eyes and one of those boneless baby Filipino faces, and a lovely toothless grin.

That said, my first reaction to babies is still, "It's cute, but what does it *do*?"

So anyway, baby comes in, we all ooh and ah over him, I get out as soon as is polite and go about my work, and a few hours later, one of the janitorial staff comes over and says to me, "So you're a grandmother!"

I stared at her. I wasn't sure whether she was joking. "Uh, no." I said. "I don't have kids."

"Oh, I thought that baby was your grandbaby," she said. "When's your baby due, then?"

I am not a grandmother. I am most certainly not pregnant. And yet one clueless individual had managed to assume I was both, and within 30 seconds of each other.

I ran down to the OR, where a friend of mine who's ageless and beautiful works, and asked her what wrinkle cream she uses. Oil of Olay ahoy!

And I'm also going to be very, very good about Weight Watchers.