This past weekend I was invited to Regent University’s annual “Clash of the Titans” debate, this year featuring Lawrence Summers, Robert Gibbs, Karl Rove, and Alan Simpson discussing how to solve America’s economic crisis. Frankly, this is not my idea of a fun Friday night, but a dinner followed the debate at which I was erroneously told I would meet James Carville. Miss an opportunity to meet that raving but entertaining Lefty loon? Never! However, given the “erroneously” in the past sentence, you have probably deduced Mr. Carville was not actually in attendance; he had actually been on the panel a previous year. Despite my disappointment at learning this information, I had already committed to the dinner (but I did skip the debate). And hey, a free dinner is a free dinner.
The highlight of the evening came from the delightful Alan Simpson.
After the dinner, Simpson approached me.
“Let me see you,” he amiably demanded, crouching (as much as an 80-year-old can crouch) in front of my baby bump. After getting a good look at my belly, he turned me to the side to observe my bump in profile. “I’m 75-25 with this, okay?”
“Okay…” I replied, unsure of where he was going with this.
“You’re having a girl!” he announced.
“Yes!” I replied, concluding he must not have heard someone just mention my baby girl. “How did you know?”
“It’s the way you’re carrying. You see, boys just jut out in front. They don’t add the width to the hips that you’ve got.”
Now, I would expect that kind of comment from my husband or my mom, both of whom have at some point in time referenced my “good childbearing hips”. But Alan Simpson? That was unexpected. Thankfully, I have a sense of humor and waited until I got into the car to cry to my husband about my fat hips.
Kidding. He was so enjoyable and good-humored that I couldn’t be offended. And hopefully some day my daughter will appreciate the humiliation I have suffered for her – from everyone from my mom to distinguished public servants.