>Fat Girl

>This afternoon I ran into a fat girl with bobbed hair who took an American literature course with me a few semesters ago. I’m happy to be alive after the collision.
I recognized her from a zip code away as she tanked into the Harris Teeter I was at. She looked like an elephant chasing a mouse, a steam engine on a determined track for cardiac arrest. “Please don’t see me,” I thought. Fat girls – especially ones (and twos) who had a thing for literature – always seemed to find me. Come to think of it, I was even sought after by scrawny book worms who’d taken a course or two with me. They all had a knack for ruining my fun times.
Naturally, the bitch with clogged arteries found me. She most likely used her sonar. I froze – paralyzed by indecision – as she smiled and rumbled toward me, her shopping cart leading the way and looking like it could fit in her belly button. I swore I saw a rabbit carcass stuck between her teeth. A baseball bat could have picked it out.
“Hi-eeeee,” she said like a wild beast on the Discovery Channel. She waved a palm ornamented with five beef steak fingers at me. I thought of how many helpless animals had died in her lifetime because of the gargantuan appetite they worked for.
“Heyyy, there,” I shot back, my voice’s volume tailing down to nothing by the end of the line. I wanted to emphasize my dismay – not thrill – for her gravitational pull leading her my way. Surely, the ocean tide at Wrightsville Beach was also moving toward her.
We exchanged small talk about what we were currently doing with our lives, but I was far from engaged in it. Words could not express what a puny little shit I gave about her plans, both current and future. The whole time I was reminiscing to myself what an annoying sack of elevated cholesterol she was. Speaking of which, I wondered amidst our discourse which was higher, her cholesterol or body weight.
She had always tried to present herself as some sort of an intellect, fascinated by classic literature, but that’s not how I perceived her antics. I was always preoccupied with her obesity in class, not to mention her flair for being one of those students who always had something to say, but absolutely nothing to contribute. I used to ache in my own private, early-morning Hell as I listened to her from my hidden seat in the corner of the room. All she spoke of were different chapters of her life’s toiling story and what being married to a Marine was like. She should have married a gastric bypass specialist.
Those were the thoughts that were going through my head as we “conversed.” She was doing all the talking, so my disconnectedness was easy to get away with. All I had to do to be received as cordial was nod, say “yes” accented with an occasional “oh yeah” like I gave a fuck, and alternate my facial expressions.

In other news, I went to the Ad Council’s website today to see about volunteering for some of the elderly around here. I just wanted to take an old man dinner or take a decrepit widow’s dog to the vet whenever I had the time. Amazingly, I found that becoming a volunteer is harder than it sounds and a shit load more frustrating than it has the right to be. Donating money, on the other hand, is simple – all the organizations accept major credit cards. There weren’t directions on how to volunteer anywhere on these associations’ websites; there wasn’t even an e-mail address to write to. I spent 20 minutes on the task before giving up. Too bad all I have to give is my own self. I’ll come back with money next time.

Finally, here are pictures of the shelves I put up in my room. Yeah, this is kind of boring, but I’m rather proud of my handy work. Take a look at the craftsmanship.

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