I'm So Fat Now, One More Cake Won't Matter

Was enjoying a healthy experience in Starbucks a few days ago, the type involving a camomile blend of which the contents of the bag would not have been out of place in a Rizzla, and a low fat yogurt, the type where you are invited to share the thrill in peeling back a strip of foil and then watch helplessly as granola cereal freefalls on to your lap.

My meditation was then rudely interrupted by Pamela and Ruby; the latter being a suffering mother-in-law who was constantly reminded of her name, the former, a gross creature. Pamela bundled in to Starbucks with seven Sainsbury’s bags of food shopping; I counted them as they thudded onto a sofa. Pamela huffed and puffed as sweat dripped from her blubber. She then roared out at Ruby to ‘park her arse’, (Harlow I thought straightaway), onto the seat next to ‘that man in black’.

Ruby, a slim, demure woman, probably in her sixties, obeyed with little resistance whilst Pamela stood close by scratching her considerable belly. She wore one of those elasticised skirts designed for obese women, the type to fit all sizes above a certain level on the BMI. Pamela continued to roar to my alarm: ‘I’ve been eating like a horse all day but I’m still starving Ruby, I dunno what’s wrong with me (you are a pig Pamela that’s what’s wrong, it’s not complicated), what about you love? Oh I know what to get you, my god it’s so boiling hot in here, it must be my hoemones’, at this point I stopped enjoying my healthy experience.
With Pamela jockeying for position at the counter, and attracting considerable attention, Ruby looked at me and smiled, I looked away confused and quickly responded to an imaginary text message on my Iphone. Distracted now by the gross Pamela I couldn’t help but notice the lifestyle hiding in the tops of her shopping bags: unbranded ice-cream, lots of, chocolate, frozen dinners, pizzas, cakes, frozen chips and more chocolate. Looking up I caught Ruby fiddling with her dentures, and then Pamela returned.

‘Ruby, a treat, look,’ Ruby could have been a cocker spaniel. ‘It’s a chocolate cookie and some tea’. The tray trembled in her hands; it was the weight of the cakes. She bent forward to reveal a ghastly cleavage, it reminded me oddly of several scenes from Saw. Pamela then dropped onto her seat, wiped her dripping face with her forearm, scratched her belly once again, the thought of her rash sent bile shooting to the roof of my mouth, then blew in my direction before staring at her breakfast.
The wedge of carrot cake was disposed of with very little effort, I counted three bites although I’m not sure whether her teeth made any contact with the cake, it was as if the carrot cake was simply absorbed. ‘God that was moist belched Ruby. You know love, I’m so fat now, one more cake won’t matter’. Sweat continued to dribble into her cleavage as she slurped back her chocolate milkshake, Ruby nibbled at her cookie.

I was late for work so had to leave before my breakfast company could depart but as I hovered over Pamela I noticed she had started to tease the edge of her cinnamon danish swirl, she had reached a feverish state and was not about to resist.