In my class of 12 year-old boys that I love so dearly, I have one boy who consistently gives me problems: Fernando.
Aside from the fact that he has no patience, always interrupts me, teases the other students, and routinely disobeys me, he has, on occasion, also called me ugly.
I passed it off as him having a crush on me, but the sheer number of times he has criticized my face made me wonder if he really thought it.
Today I wore leggings and a shirt that covered the necessities, and over that I wore a long sweater. Through the shirt you could see the seam of the leggings, and some bunching of a tank top I wore under my shirt, but earlier today I had in fact admired my lack of a pooch when looking in the mirror.
AND YET, Fernando today decided to ask me if I was pregnant. Clearly he knew I was not. Do I fit the usual profile of a pregnant woman? Married? Older than 22? HAVING a pooch??!
But, upon my asking him, “Do I look like I’m pregnant?” he insisted that, yes, I did. Well, this was it.
You can get away with calling a girl ugly, but you better learn right here and now that you never call a girl fat. And that’s exactly what I told him.
I said, “Get out. Fernando, Get out.”
“Pero por que?”
“Nunca digas a una mujer que es gorda. Get out.”
So hopefully, Fernando has learned that lesson for the rest of his life, because that is one mistake he’ll never want to make again.