wait, lactation isn't hot?

when i went out with meg to celebrate her graduamatation from law school, i had the following encounter at the bar of the club:

eurotrash guy with cheesy oblong glasses, a 5 o'clock on the dot shadow, and a freakin' newsboy cap for god's sake: are you having fun?

me: [look at e.t.g. to see who's talking to me, blink, turn back to trying to get bartender's attention]

e.t.g.: the music is good, no?

me: [make "so-so" sign with hand while not looking at e.t.g.]

e.t.g.: do you like to dance?

me: [nod, still no eye contact]

e.t.g.: me too!

me: [.....]

e.t.g.: i like your hair.

me: [big fat eye roll]

[the bartender finally comes over, i order a water]

e.t.g.: why aren't you drinking tonight?

me: [looking him straight in the eye and speaking loudly as to be sure i'm heard] i have a 9-month-old baby and i'm breastfeeding.

e.t.g.: [look of horror, disappears in a puff of smoke]


so, ladies, if you're getting some unwanted attention and blank stares, a snotty attitude, and the total cold shoulder isn't driving the hint home, just tell 'em you're breastfeeding!

[or you could take the route that meg herself took a couple of weeks later, telling a gentleman who'd been at her side for the majority of a party: "look, i'm not going to make out with you in any way, shape or form, so if you want to go try to find someone else, you probably should—the night's almost over." heh.]