There is something about me that attracts weirdness, I’m sure of it. Until I can figure out what it is that I’m doing wrong, I guess I’m going to continue to have things happen to me like what happened tonight — when the Pizza Hut delivery person straight up asked me how much I weigh. Oh, yes, she did.

Maybe if I tell you exactly what happened, we can all work together to make some sense out of it.

I was planning to make hamburgers and french fries for dinner, because it’s Friday night and it just felt right. Then I realized that the ground beef was frozen, so I went to Plan B which was pancakes … but we are almost out of syrup. That is when I texted Robbie to ask if he would pick up a pizza on his way home. He responded that he would have some food delivered.

At 5:45 p.m. there was a knock at the door, and on the other side was a delivery woman who looked about my age. Now, I have a special place in my heart for delivery people. Robbie delivered pizzas at night to supplement our income a few years ago when we were trying to follow the Dave Ramsey plan, and ever since then I have really made a point to tip well and be polite to people who deliver pizzas. It seems like it’s an easy job and it is, until your life is in danger. Think about it. Who is too preoccupied to make dinner besides busy mothers of small children?

People who are in the middle of cooking a batch of meth in their bathtub, that’s who.

It took her awhile to pull the pizzas out of the bag that keeps them hot, and she noticed the two boys standing behind me. “I have a two-year-old,” she said. I smiled as I took the boxes from her and said I’d be right back — I needed to go find a pen to sign the receipt. On my way, I scooped up Pepper because she was crying.

When I reappeared at the door with her on my hip, Delivery Woman looked surprised. “You have three?” she said. “Are there any more in there?”

“Nope, that’s it!”

“How old are they? Did you have the smaller ones back-to-back?”

“Pretty much, they’re 21 months apart.”

I thought this was the end of our conversation. Nope. She took a step toward me … and this is what followed:

Delivery Woman: How do you keep your weight down?

Me: I in no way feel my weight is “down.”

Delivery Woman: Do you work out?

Me: I mostly go to the gym because there is childcare there.

Delivery Woman: Which gym?

Me: (Told her which one, how much it costs, and what it offers.)

Delivery Woman: Are you breastfeeding that baby? I heard that burns calories.

Me: No … no. Not a breast feeder. (Starting to inch backwards to close the door.)

Delivery Woman: WELL. I need to know how you do it.

Me: (Trying to tuck the kids back into the house.) Uhhh …

Delivery Woman: HOW MUCH DO YOU WEIGH?

That is when I looked at her like this:

As I stood in the doorway of my house with my gaggle of children and two large pizzas, the lady from Pizza Hut proceeded to ask again, “How much? About XXX?”

She guessed my exact weight within 3 pounds. I felt myself nod at her and wondered if our next door neighbors were standing on the other side of the bushes listening to our conversation. I totally would have been. This shit was weird.

As I shut the door, I heard her yell “NICE TALKING TO YOU!!!!” 

Wait.

Did I just make a new friend? Or am I just the kind of person who you meet and think “I can totally ask her how much she weighs?” Give it to me straight. Between this and the gym towel fiasco, I’m really starting to think I’m doing something wrong.