Deb stared at the form in the mirror. A large blob of flesh stared back at her. She tried to think back to a time when there was a slender woman looking back at her, but such a memory escaped her. It seemed so long ago. Was she 18? Was she 20? She couldn't recall, but it was at least 20 years ago. She noticed the new insults beginning visited in the form of wrinkles around her eyes. Wasn't being terminally fat enough? Now nature reminded her that she was fat and old. Too old to regain the figure that danced in her dreams, eluding her in her waking hours. She sighed deeply and went about the business of preparing for the day. Thank heaven for winter. A heavy woman's favorite time of year, when you could cover up a lot with bulky sweaters and heavy coats. But it wasn't as if she was fooling anyone. Especially not herself.
Dressed to go and face the day, she opened the front door and made her way down the drive to her car. She always parked near the street, just in case the extra 40 steps might be the magic cure. She opened the car door and sat down. Seat belt affixed, she cranked the car to let it warm up. She looked about the neighborhood, waiting for the engine to signal it was ready with the familiar hum. She noticed the boxes piled outside the house next door. Another new neighbor. That house had sold at least three times since she had moved in two years after her divorce. That had been seven years ago. Three new neighbors in five years had to be a record. She noted that the boxes weren't the usual liquor boxes or other grocery store hand-me-downs. This family actually used moving boxes, all seeming to be neatly labeled for the room it would occupy and the contents therein. She thought to herself "Don't you hate neat people?". She was a neat freak, too and all her friends constantly reminded her of how much that grated on the nerves of the average person.
The engine settled into the steady hum that indicated she was free to go. She shifted into reverse and turned slightly in the seat to check for oncoming traffic. All clear. She headed out and into her day. As she drove past the house next door, she noticed a man coming down the front walk with more boxes neatly stacked for the trash men. She saw past the stack to a handsome face and a tight, fit body. "Sheesh! Lord save me from neighbors who jog or otherwise flaunt their physical fitness. It makes the rest of us look bad." As she drove away, she noticed a raised hand above the boxes. She tried to wave back, but was already down the street to far when she had noticed. He must have seen her giving him the once over. Not only had she lost her figure and her looks, now she had lost her subtlety.
Sitting behind the desk at work, she silently cursed the PC. It was his fault she had grown so wide. She had been merely pleasingly plump when she met that thing. A promotion, it was called. They should have been honest and called it the demise of all hopes at ever having a normal size waist. She had gone from a floor supervisor to a training maven. Now, she spent most of her time sitting at that infernal thing, munching sweets and salty snacks retrieved from its damnable partner, the snack machine. And the soda machine was in on it too. They beckoned her, cajoling her in to purchasing security blankets in Twinkie wrappers. Whenever a project decided to misbehave, she could count on the machines from hell to rear their ugly heads. First the PC would swallow whole a day and a half of work, then his cronies would entice her to sacrifice her body to the training gods but consuming chips and brownies, cookies and pretzels. And it was shaping up to be one of those days. Hell, who was she kidding. It was one of those weeks. One of those months. Hell, the entire year had been piss poor. Ah, quitting time, wherefore art thou?
Back at home, in her warm house, she settled in to pay her homage to the television gods. Another offering to the gods, this time of popcorn. Perhaps a little ice cream, just to be sure the harvest of shows would flourish. And then time to exercise. Walk into the kitchen and do the dishes. Take the trash to the curb. Bundled up like an Eskimo, she trundled out the back door and down to the street. She dropped the bag into the waste bin and turned to walk back uphill to the house. As she turned, she heard a pleasant voice shouting "Hello, neighbor!" in her direction. She looked around and saw him standing across the drive, wearing a sweat suit. Jogging. She knew it. She mustered a smile and called back a greeting. Then he did the unthinkable. A thing that neighbors do not do. Not anymore. Not since granny was a young one. He walked up to her side of the drive and introduced himself. With outstretched hand, he said "I'm Robert Thomlin. My friends call me Bobby." She took the hand briefly, a little shake.
"Deborah MacLamore. My friends call me Deborah." He smiled and let out a short laugh. His eyes danced with glee, catching the glow of the street light. He looked at her. Straight in the eyes, no less. He actually made eye contact and then he started...what were those things called again?...a conversation. He chatted away about where he was from, how he had bought the house for a song from the poor couple who was divorcing and how he really enjoyed good friends. She smiled politely, noticing his straight-toothed smile and the dimples that played on his cheeks as he smiled or laughed. He was beautiful. She had never used that word to describe a man, but he was. "Either REALLY married or gay" she thought to herself. She tuned back into the conversation as she heard him say "So, would you like to come?" She wanted to shout yes, but she wasn't sure what he was inviting her to. But a guy, married or gay or whatever had actually asked her to show up somewhere, sometime for something. How long had it been? She was married so long, too long. And only two dates since the divorce three years ago. The idea that someone would ask her anywhere was exciting. Fat girls aren't asked out much, even by friends to dinner parties. Perhaps the "normals" are afraid "her type" will eat the other guests if they run out of buffet tidbits.
