There I was on the subway, minding my own business, when this skinny young thing who had been staring at me tapped my shoulder and said, “Excuse me, but I must confess that I cannot ignore your mass, which requires two seats, while two of me could fit snuggly into one.”
Can you believe that crap? I gave her that “I had a long freaking day so don’t mess with me” look, thinking she’d go back to reading “Carrot Sticks Monthly,” but no. She cupped her hands around her mouth and continued her oration to the whole subway car.
“Ladies and gentleman, those who wish to help me along, a proper fat-shaming this glutton needs, so please join me in song.”
I’d read about fat-shaming, but I had never experienced it. It felt bad.
By now, other passengers were taking out their earbuds and paying attention. I am not in the mood for your performance art, I told her with my eyes. Plus, her rhyme scheme sucked.
“It’s no secret how one stays so gorgeously lean, just don’t start your day with 16 pints of ice cream.”
People were snickering. And yeah, a couple of punk-ass teenagers were singing along. Someone was recording a video. Great, just my luck. And would any of them have cared if I’d mentioned that today, of all days, I’d just begun a diet?
“Do you like eating burgers, twelve in one sitting? Here, dress yourself in this king-sized bed sheet, the look is quite fitting.”
Yeah, I was getting pissed off alright, giving Miss Twiggy a serious case of skank eye, but funnily enough, all that food talk was making me hungry.
“We don’t enjoy this intervention, not ever so slightly, it’s just that your health concerns us so mightily.”
That got everyone nodding. Smug jerks. All I could think was, damn, I wish I had a bag of Funions.
“What will you do now, will you heed this warning? Or will you go back to stuffing your face with 12 donuts each morning?”
Sure, there wasn’t an ounce of meat on her scrawny legs, and her anorexia breath was nauseating, but there was something rather yummy-looking about her bare midriff. And her sinewy neck. The way her tendons quivered each time she belted out a line reminded me of buffalo wings.
“Hey you, Miss Two-Ton, what do you say? Will you start taking better care of yourself this very day?
I wouldn’t normally think of binging in public, but my stomach was begging for a little morsel. I grabbed her by her skinny waist, held her sideways like a hotdog, and chomped into her ribs.
“Ouch, hey, stop, that hurts quite a bit. What do you think I am, a human banana split?”
She smelled like rotting kale and she didn’t taste all that good, but you know how it goes. Once you start with snacks, you can’t stop till you finish the whole bag.
“Even if you devour me in front of this crowd, I will continue to shame you, and shame you out loud.”
I moved on to her thighs, which were all bone, then ate her calves and feet. Her midsection was a little better, but her insides tasted of nothing but coffee and multivitamins. Did this girl never eat?
“Heart disease, diabetes, depression and strokes: just a few of the consequences of obesity, really, no joke.”
Her arms weren’t much better, nor did her chest offer much flesh. But I couldn’t give up, now that I was so close to being done.
“I was just a kind stranger who just wanted merely to help out, but sure, just forget it. I hope that after eating me, you develop a nasty case of gout.”
I popped her head into my mouth and didn’t even chew. Bad habit, but the train was at my stop, and I know that it’s not good to eat on the run.