My friend Natalie arrived yesterday, fresh from the Land of LaLa -- British Columbia, for those of you who have yet to break my code.

And I guess she didn't really arrive FRESH from B.C., yesterday. Well, I don't really know what she looked/smelled like when she got off the plane, mind you. But after spending a week visiting with family, she was dropped off at my waiting car in the parking lot at Oakville Place (our sort-of-halfway meeting spot).

Yup, there she was -- Natalie, two suitcases that might, maybe, if-you-tried-really-hard-could-possibly squeeze into the trunk space of a Hummer, a small duffle, a knapsack and her purse. She WAS, after all, going to be in Ontario for two whole weeks.

Oh, and she was carrying something else, too -- a tiny, little bulge popping over the top of her size 4 shorts. The tiny, little bulge inside that she claims is a nearly-seven-month-old fetus.

I was shocked. Not that she was pregnant, of course. I'd already known about that for nearly seven months. But that she was so small. Which sounds terrible, I guess, but what I mean is that Natalie is a very small girl. (Note the size 4 shorts above. Plus, she's, er ... height- challenged, as I like to call it.)

And when any small, height- challenged girl gains or loses even five pounds, it's quite noticeable. So if you attach an entire person onto the front of the very small, height-challenged girl, you'd think she might look a bit bigger than usual.

Uh, yeah. Not so much.

Now, if Natalie wasn't my very close friend, I might find certain unflattering words to describe a woman whose seventh-month pregnancy bulge is still smaller than my had-too-many-beer-and-nachos-at-the-bar bulge. Cause, uh, did I mention she's still wearing her size 4, low-rise shorts?

But she is my close friend, and as such, I was actually thrilled to see that she's so small and cute. Would've been thrilled either way, you understand, but you know what I mean ...

Too bad the rest of the world can't be feeling the love the way I do. Too bad the women from the Land of LaLa can't be as Happy Happy Love Joy as they pretend to be. Too bad the only thing that separates the catty behaviour of women from province to province is the degree of passive- aggressive to which they subscribe -- behaviour that seems to get worse and worse the farther west you go.

Quebecers, for instance, are not passive at all -- just plain aggressive. We (and yes, I'll include myself in this category) will just say stuff outright, no matter how outrageously catty.

In Ontario, the aggressiveness is tempered by polite British backgrounds, so there seems to be a good mix of the two.

In B.C., where the women all pretend to love each other and the Earth and grubby little urchins and whatever, it's all passive-aggressive.

And if you don't believe me, get this: When Natalie announced her pregnancy to her fellow teachers at her groovy, touchy-feely, let's-just-commune-with-nature-today school, she was met with some interesting reactions.

One fellow teacher touched her shoulder in a most concerned manner.

"Natalie," she said, looking her in the face. "Are you watching your sweets? Are you being careful about what you're eating? You should still be exercising, you know. Looks like you'll be having a BIG baby ..."

Bitch. Perfect thing to say to a woman when she's feeling more self-conscious about her body than she ever has or will.

Or how about this from another teacher whose background must hail from Quebec: "I should've known you were pregnant. I've noticed that your butt's been getting bigger."

Or, "I should've known because you've been eating ALL the time." And so on and so forth. Nothing about how nice she looks, about how small and cute she is, how happy they are for her and her husband, Richard. Nope. Nothing. Nada in the nice department.

But what can you expect from the Passive-Aggressives? The aggressive has to surface at some point, right?

It's OK, though. In a couple of months she can just make them squirm even more with a supercute baby. And a killer ass, too.

snadler@thespec.com