I have a kooky co-worker. Well, not so much kooky as "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!??!"

She is very fond of invading personal space, coming up to my desk and STANDING THERE STARING and talking at me while I'm attempting to work. And she’ll just KEEP STANDING! No matter how little eye contact I make, or how busy I clearly am, or how perfunctorily I answer her questions, she will just KEEP STANDING, making bizarre attempts at humor and blinking repeatedly in an odd idiosyncratic way. Fortunately she works in a different department, so I don't work with her directly, which minimizes our interaction. But nonetheless, every couple of days, THERE SHE IS, popping up over my computer screen, hovering vulture-like with her crazy blinking eyes and Joker-esque grin.

Today was a humdinger. As usual, she was STANDING THERE, hovering over my screen, while I was making as little conversation/eye contact as possible, focusing on my computer in hopes that she would scurry away and leave me be. At one point, I said “I’m tired” because I AM.

She said “Yeah – you look tired. You look really pale today, too. Are you not wearing make-up?” I said that no, it wasn’t that, it’s the eco-friendly sunblock that I wear during pregnancy, which gives a slight white cast because of the zinc oxide.

She nodded, staring hard at my face, and then said “Oh, and you’re getting a little spot there, too” and POINTED AT THE (teeny-tiny) ZIT ON MY FACE.

Awesome.

I said “Yep, that’s a pimple. Thanks!”

She said “Oh, don’t you love that!” and FINALLY scurried off, cackling.

WHAT THE HELL.

The kicker is that, when she’s not pointing out my flaws, she’s all “You’re soooooo beautiful and thin!” (pre-pregnant, anyway). Huh?!?

What I Should Have Said: Listen, you schizophrenic old bag, why don't you walk a mile in my shoes for a day or two (or I should say waddle a mile, while six months pregnant and carrying an extra 18 lbs - ?!?! - on your midsection)?

Wake up at 5:30 with your teething toddler, make breakfast, feed/change/dress, prep food/bottles/snacks, take said toddler to school, rush to work (late as usual), rot your eyes in front of TINY LITTLE NUMBERS on 87 billion Excel spreadsheets for 8 hours, pick up/drive home/feed/bathe toddler, do dishes, wash bottles, make your own dinner and do those dishes, pass out on couch, then finally stagger to bed at 11 or later, and THEN talk to me about looking crappy.

DO NOT PROVOKE THE PREGNANT LADY. SOMEONE COULD LOSE AN ARM.