I braved the maternity store at the mall last week, looking for fall-type clothes. Instead I found ugly, overpriced outfits – polyester tops and matching pants sold as sets, giant pink sweaters, black tents sold as “dresses” – and an idiotic sales girl.

Maternity stores are not like regular stores. If you’re in a maternity store, you better have a due date and an ultrasound or they’ll toss you out. You also have to discuss your weight gain, exact measurments (none of the polite salesperson “can I get you a different size?” when you’ve given up trying to get that 6 to zip), morning sickness, birth plan (I’m still not sure what that means) and family history. Our store is kind of a small place and there’s hardly ever more than one person in it at a time, so there is no way to avoid the person working there.

I snuck in the door, tried to avoid eye contact, and then hid behind the sales rack, hoping the girl behind the counter would let me shop in peace. No such luck.

“How far along are you?” Um, about 4 months

“Are you still in regular pants or do you need new jeans?” No, these are well disguised maternity jeans and no you can’t have them.

“So this was an accident, right?” …………..Wait, what?

“You got pregnant by accident? No way, you really planned it?” Yes. Planned. With my husband, who I’ve been happily married to for four years. We intentionally had unprotected sex in the very nice house we own and then went out to dinner and paid in cash because we are financially responsible. Also, did I mention I was TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD which is a perfectly appropriate age to have a baby ON PURPOSE??!??!?

I know I don’t look very old. I still get carded. Last year someone asked me what high school I went to. But I was hoping I was old enough to pass for a young Navy wife instead of a pregnant teenager. I guess I was wrong. Stupid maternity store clerk.