lovely hand in my fat, bloated one.
Deal.
“A nton, you asked Marielle to come on the show with you today because you had something to tell her, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anton, who wore an oversized Dr. Dre sweatshirt and a red bandanna around his hair, turned to his overweight fiancée, a vision in leopard-print polyester. “Baby, you too fat.”
“Don’t even go there, uh-uh,” she warned him, waving her long, blood-red nails at him.
“I gots to, baby. I mean, I still love you an’ like that, but the fat be a real turn-off in the romance department, baby, you know what I’m sayin’? So if you don’t be takin’ the weight
off
by the wedding, you gonna be waitin’
on
the wedding!”
“Oooooo!” the audience exclaimed.
The camera came in on Marielle’s pretty, round face,which burned with embarrassment. Her head shook back and forth on her neck, all bravado. “You the one with the problem, Anton. I can kick you to the curb, it won’t make no difference to me,” she lied, trying not to cry.
She pried her engagement ring off her finger. “If that’s how you feel, Anton, the wedding’s off.” She flung the ring at him. The crowd roared its approval.
Ricki Lake waded into the audience. “Yes, sir,” she said, putting the microphone in a young guy’s face.
“Well, I don’t get it, Marielle,” the guy said. “If you really love your man, lose the weight for him!”
Click
. Next channel.
Sally Jessy Raphaël. “Our next guest says she knows what it’s like to be the brunt of every joke at her grade school. She says kids have stuck pictures of pigs in her desk and put dog feces in her lunchbox. Please welcome ten-year-old Emily to our show.”
Click
. Next channel.
Richard Simmons, clad in tiny shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, tears in his eyes, rested his hand on the stirrup pants of a thin, middle-aged woman with a bad bleach job.
“Mom, I know you want what’s best for your child, but your daughter can’t lose the weight because you want her to. You can’t ridicule her into getting thin. Name-calling doesn’t work—”
“But I’m just trying to help!” thin Mom said. “I’ve tried everything else, and
look
at her!”
“B-But if you would just leave me alone …,” her fat daughter blubbered, “then I could—”
Click
. Next channel.
A commercial. A fat, sour-faced middle-aged woman sat with her husband in a restaurant. They had nothing tosay to each other. They spread their muffins with a generic margarine spread. The husband’s gaze wandered to another table, where a gorgeous, thin young woman spread cream cheese on her muffin.
“I want … cream cheese,” the husband sighed wistfully.
“Half the calories, half the fat of margarine,” the voice-over said, and the camera panned back to the fat woman, the margarine eater.
“How lame is that commercial?” Jett asked me. “It insults your intelligence!”
I clicked the TV off and dropped the remote control onto the nightstand.
“Dr. Towne, line three, please. Dr. Towne, please pick up line three,” an amplified voice rang in the hospital corridor.
Jett turned to stare out the window. I lay heavily against the raised back of my hospital bed.
Why don’t you ever really kiss me anymore? I wanted to ask him. But I didn’t. I knew the answer.
The fat be a real turn-off in the romance department, baby
.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” I told him.
Jett turned back to me. “Yeah, I can imagine. But the whole thing will have been worth it if they figure out what’s wrong with you.”
It had been three weeks since my deal with Mom, where I had lived on Slim-Shake for three days. She’d kept her part of the bargain and stayed glued to me at all times. She’d even slept in the other twin bed, which we pulled in front of my door at night so I couldn’t leave the room.
At the end of the three days, I got on the scale in front of her.
I had gained two pounds.
She finally believed me.
She
Deal.
“A nton, you asked Marielle to come on the show with you today because you had something to tell her, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Anton, who wore an oversized Dr. Dre sweatshirt and a red bandanna around his hair, turned to his overweight fiancée, a vision in leopard-print polyester. “Baby, you too fat.”
“Don’t even go there, uh-uh,” she warned him, waving her long, blood-red nails at him.
“I gots to, baby. I mean, I still love you an’ like that, but the fat be a real turn-off in the romance department, baby, you know what I’m sayin’? So if you don’t be takin’ the weight
off
by the wedding, you gonna be waitin’
on
the wedding!”
“Oooooo!” the audience exclaimed.
The camera came in on Marielle’s pretty, round face,which burned with embarrassment. Her head shook back and forth on her neck, all bravado. “You the one with the problem, Anton. I can kick you to the curb, it won’t make no difference to me,” she lied, trying not to cry.
She pried her engagement ring off her finger. “If that’s how you feel, Anton, the wedding’s off.” She flung the ring at him. The crowd roared its approval.
Ricki Lake waded into the audience. “Yes, sir,” she said, putting the microphone in a young guy’s face.
“Well, I don’t get it, Marielle,” the guy said. “If you really love your man, lose the weight for him!”
Click
. Next channel.
Sally Jessy Raphaël. “Our next guest says she knows what it’s like to be the brunt of every joke at her grade school. She says kids have stuck pictures of pigs in her desk and put dog feces in her lunchbox. Please welcome ten-year-old Emily to our show.”
Click
. Next channel.
Richard Simmons, clad in tiny shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, tears in his eyes, rested his hand on the stirrup pants of a thin, middle-aged woman with a bad bleach job.
“Mom, I know you want what’s best for your child, but your daughter can’t lose the weight because you want her to. You can’t ridicule her into getting thin. Name-calling doesn’t work—”
“But I’m just trying to help!” thin Mom said. “I’ve tried everything else, and
look
at her!”
“B-But if you would just leave me alone …,” her fat daughter blubbered, “then I could—”
Click
. Next channel.
A commercial. A fat, sour-faced middle-aged woman sat with her husband in a restaurant. They had nothing tosay to each other. They spread their muffins with a generic margarine spread. The husband’s gaze wandered to another table, where a gorgeous, thin young woman spread cream cheese on her muffin.
“I want … cream cheese,” the husband sighed wistfully.
“Half the calories, half the fat of margarine,” the voice-over said, and the camera panned back to the fat woman, the margarine eater.
“How lame is that commercial?” Jett asked me. “It insults your intelligence!”
I clicked the TV off and dropped the remote control onto the nightstand.
“Dr. Towne, line three, please. Dr. Towne, please pick up line three,” an amplified voice rang in the hospital corridor.
Jett turned to stare out the window. I lay heavily against the raised back of my hospital bed.
Why don’t you ever really kiss me anymore? I wanted to ask him. But I didn’t. I knew the answer.
The fat be a real turn-off in the romance department, baby
.
“I can’t wait to get out of here,” I told him.
Jett turned back to me. “Yeah, I can imagine. But the whole thing will have been worth it if they figure out what’s wrong with you.”
It had been three weeks since my deal with Mom, where I had lived on Slim-Shake for three days. She’d kept her part of the bargain and stayed glued to me at all times. She’d even slept in the other twin bed, which we pulled in front of my door at night so I couldn’t leave the room.
At the end of the three days, I got on the scale in front of her.
I had gained two pounds.
She finally believed me.
She
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