I need a sign.

I've been thinking about some sort of physical badge or sign or something to let others know that I'm a pregnant woman, and I'm pissed all the time. You know, there are a lot of them: The rainbow sign to let people know you're gay, the pink ribbon to let people know you're very aware and a fighter of breast cancer, the red ribbon to say the same about AIDS, the yellow ribbon/magnet that tells people you have some sort of relative in the war, or that you support the troops, (which even though I'm not a supporter of the war, I can respect, because I do support the troops as well and wish they could all just come home and be with their families already), the baseball cap that says, "white trash" ....(something some people don't even need a sign for, i.e. my neighbors), anyway, you get what I'm saying. Just a little something to let others know about what's going on in your head, life, body, etc. I personally think it's a great idea. That way people can be like, "oh, that's why she has that look on her face--the one that says she is perfectly capable of running you over and not feeling bad about it." I just need to let people know that I can't handle their crap. Normally, I can laugh stuff off and deal (or just chalk it up to being a good story for later), but right now that's not working out so well. You know how I went on and on in my last post about how I had a good day and it was a pleasant surprise? Well that trend ended way too quickly. Luckily for you, my two readers, I have a few somethings to fume about.
So, as it was Sunday, I went to church. Normally when I go, it's hard to get myself out of bed and get there, but I always feel better about myself when I get home. There was always a lesson I needed to hear, or I ran into someone that said something to make me feel really good about myself, or I just come away from the whole experience feeling like I did my good deed for the week. (Now please don't assume that this is how all LDS people are. I am one of those few that know I should/need to do better, be better and try harder, but instead of taking it to heart and being that go-getter, I am satisfied with the baby steps that I make, and am content with the thought that I try to be nice and be honest and do what I'm supposed to. I've come into contact with amazing people in my ward that can and have accomplished things I could only imagine, and yet they are still are motivated to constantly do and be better. I just pray that somehow my good aspects will kinda even-out all the negative stuff like laziness and bitterness, and sarcasm, and lots of other less-than-positive attributes I have. Most importantly, I am trying each day to find joy in the little things, because seriously, that's all I can handle).
Anyway, onto my stories. Firstly, I am a person that has to have my own space. It's been this way forever, the only people I truly feel like I can be physically close to are Jeff, Riley and Cole. And my sisters. Obviously, these people have seen me pee and when I first wake up in the mornings and really, nothing could surprise them at this point. That being stated, at church sometimes I feel really claustrophobic. Mostly because I'm with people that I know, but only as church acquaintances. (I have a few friends, but it's hard for me to get too chummy with people in my ward...then all of a sudden you're expected to attend all these functions like, BBQs, play dates, service projects, any type of Tupperware or Pampered Chef party, etc. I'm talking like, five days a week). So when there is a class at church where we all have to squeeze together, and yes, I'm practically sitting on someone's lap, it's awkward. And then I get bugged. For example, I was sitting next to a woman that always eats Doritos during class. So not only do you smell the processed nacho cheese flavoring every time she opens her mouth, (And she's one of those people that answers every question and reads every quote, so it's open often), but she's a loud chewer and breather. She is also about nine months pregnant, so I try to focus on this fact, because as you get more and more pregnant, and I know this from experience, you breathe louder and you're just really uncomfortable, so you move around a lot. However, reminding myself of these facts wasn't really helping. Every time I "smelled the cheese" if you will, I got nauseous. And then she started with her hair. She has about three feet of curly brown hair that she lovingly caresses all through class each Sunday. It usually starts out in a braid, but then she plays with it, combs it out, and winds it around her fingers during the hour. Because it was so crowded in the room we were in, she didn't have as much room to play, however, this did NOT stop her from swinging her braid around to her front where she could pick it up with her hand and examine the ends or pick out the hairs that were starting to come undone. Every five minutes, she needed to make sure the status of her hair hadn't changed and each time she swung it around, it hit me in the boob and shoulder. I counted four times before I thought I would grab that braid and keep yanking on it until I had all three feet and the bloody roots in my hand. After a while I had to just lean on Jeff, who at the time was being stabbed by the legs of a toddler in his hip. (Apparently his mom didn't think that this would bother the man that had to sit an inch away from her). He was also kicked at, as well, when the baby got tired of sitting a certain way. Needless to say, I wasn't "feeling the spirit", if you know what I'm saying.
My next beef was when I went to the restroom. Sweet relief, if you know what I am saying, because A, I got to go pee, and in my condition, I'm always up for that, and B, I got to go to a place where I could sit for a few moments in silence without anyone touching me. I walked into the restroom and literally sighed in relief. There was a cute little two or three year old twirling in her dress as I walked in, and I smiled, because she was just entertaining herself while her mom made arrangements in the mirror. I looked down at her pigtales as I was trying to scoot by and saw that her hair had been sprayed with glitter. Ah, cute. However, as I passed her my skirt brushed her arm and I smiled and said, "Excuse me", apparently, this was unacceptable. Because suddenly I felt my skirt being yanked aside like you would curtains, and her little voice say, "MOVE outta the WAYS!" Suddenly, she was the homeliest child I had ever seen, and I had visions of picking her up and washing all that hair glitter out and into the toilet. The other thing was, her mother just stood there, adjusting her boobs and wiping at some lipstick smears. (What the heck had she been doing?) I came this close to saying something less than religious.
So you see, people need to know what they are dealing with these days, when it comes to me. I can't be held responsible for the next woman's hair I rip out or the next child I drown in the nearest toilet. If I could just give them some kind of warning, perhaps life would be more livable. I don't know. This is my new challenge, to come up with something that is catchy enough that when others see it, they immediately know to steer clear and tread lightly. You are all invited to brainstorm with me. Oh, and for the love of your children, watch them when I'm around...otherwise, they might just end up emotionally scarred from a really bad encounter.