Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake

Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake by Lindy Dale

Book: Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake by Lindy Dale Read Free Book Online
Authors: Lindy Dale
Standing before a camera, when I’d been the size of a stick was one thing, but exposing myself in a room full of strangers was not on. I was there to lose weight, not get therapy. Though I’d often wondered if I might need a bit of that too.
    The woman behind the desk gave me an understanding look. “Not right away. In fact, if you don’t feel comfortable speaking, you can simply listen. Some people never say a word the whole time they’re here.”
    I felt the tension leaving my body, like air from a deflating soufflé.
    Following the pointed finger, I got myself into the queue of women — far smaller than twenty minutes before — and waited my turn. I noted the looks of glee and a few of despair as they stepped on the scales and their loss or otherwise was revealed. One woman whooped for joy, the next in line was not so happy. It had been a bad week for her. One that involved large tubs of Baskin and Robbins ice cream and entire packets of Weight Watchers Chocolate Éclairs.
    The mention of those two words made me gasp inwardly. Chocolate Éclairs? How was it possible to be able to eat éclairs and be on a diet? Hadn’t these people seen the éclairs at Maggie’s? They were the reason I was in this predicament to begin with. Well that, and the fact that my willpower had left me the day I found out Graeme had been playing me for the fool. It was weaker than a cup of that disgusting tea Mum kept plying me with when I went to her place and even if I did manage to employ its use on the odd occasion, things always went belly-up within hours. There was no point fighting the cravings, it only made them stronger.
    But that didn’t mean I was giving up.
    Soon, it was my turn on the scale. With a lump of nausea the size of a tennis ball in my throat and my head to the floor in fear of being recognised, I handed my shiny new membership card to a second person recording the weigh-ins whose voice sounded way too familiar. I glanced up through my eyelashes.
    Oh. My. God.
    NO.
    It was Mrs Tanner.
    Overcome with shock — which seemed to be the recurring theme for the evening — I swallowed and raced towards the scales, hoping to avoid her gaze and praying she wouldn’t recognise me without her glasses. It was embarrassing enough being there without people knowing I was. Which everyone would by about 9pm, if Mrs Tanner realised it was my membership card she was stamping.
    “Hello, love. Fancy seeing you here.”
    Great.
    “Uh, hi, Mrs Tanner.”
    “I haven’t seen you for a while.”
    Probably because she was always on the phone spreading gossip.
    “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”
    “Come to get fit and healthy, have we?”
    “Something like that.”
    “You haven’t been doing anymore of that hypnosis have you?”
    “No.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    Mrs Tanner moved from behind the table to stand next to the scales. I slipped off my thongs and using the other woman as a brace jumped onto the scale balancing on one foot.
    “You won’t know yourself after a couple of weeks. This Weight Watchers malarkey is for the birds.”
    I had no idea how to reply or what that even meant.
    “Erm. Ah, yes.”
    Mrs Tanner fiddled with something on the scales. “I mean look at me. I used to be a heifer, no two ways about it. Now I could give that Miranda Kerr a run for her money.”
    I wasn’t too sure about that. The new Mrs Tanner might be thinner but she was definitely on the wrong side of fifty and had wrinkles on her face the depth of arctic crevices from years of smoking. Suppressing a smile, I glanced at my weight, now winking at me from the scales.
    That couldn’t be true. There had to be some mistake.
    Ninety. Point. Five. Kilos.
    I blinked and blinked. I rubbed my hand over my eyes and squinted, hoping the blurring would change the numbers. I believe I repeated the process quite a few times before I slowly raised my eyes to Mrs Tanner. There I saw a faintly concealed look of shock, or perhaps it was disbelief, pass over her

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