You could say I learned this business from my grandma. My dad's mother, that is. Mother's mom is a crusty old lady who didn't like the fact that mom married a black guy.
My grandma was on disability for high blood pressure. Her family knew she was as fit as a fiddle, though. She'd put salt under her tongue to emulate someone who had enough problems to get her check every month. Her getting the check meant that she couldn't work, which was convenient for her because she was lazy when it came to anything other than cooking.
Today, my mission was to get some fat pills and go see Dave, a burned-out cracker who used to have a cocaine addiction. These days he snorts ephedrine, which I was currently out of. It was time to see Dr. Watson down at Obesity Management.
I dodged across the highway on my bike with a pillow under one arm. Some white guy had to stomp on his brakes. He yelled out his window, "Fuckin' niggers!".
I gave him a huge shit-eating grin and moved along. For one thing, I like profanity. I mean, even if it's directed at me I get some jollies out of it. Though my black ancestors were shackled and hauled across the ocean to work for nothing, and I feel really bad about that, "nigger" is the funniest word ever.
And besides all that, I know his daughter. She's a rotten crotch who sometimes buys my pills, but mostly does bars. I've never found a steady supply of bars.
Before I walk into Obesity Management, I stuff the pillow under my shirt and fluff it up so it looks like a beer gut. I stroll in and the receptionist stands to look at my belly. She laughs at me, so I know my ruse was a failure.
"Jesus Christ, Howie. You can do better than that.", said Alyssa, the cute blonde receptionist with breasts that sag some because she used to be what is referred to now as "super-morbidly-obese".
"Whoops, my bad", I said, signing the sheet. The pillow was mostly for laughs.
"Dr. Watson will see you as soon as he can", she said and sat down.
Poor Alyssa. Several surgeries were done and she's still looking rough. She lost the weight through starvation and exercise. The pounds melted off so fast that she had deflated balloon-skin. Supposedly they tummy tucked her whole body. She had breast lift surgery, and she still looked pretty bad.
That has to be such a disappointment. You stop eating and start killing yourself exercising. You lose around 400 pounds and look at yourself in the mirror. All that loose skin. Fold upon fold, looking worse than when you started. An unfair world, for sure.
Dr. Watson came in, and I followed him into a back room, pillow still under my shirt. He poked at it and rolled his eyes. I took it out, and he said, "Much better."
We weighed me. I was 145 pounds. He said, "Uh oh, gaining weight, Howie."
Since my weight loss was apparently not working he was allowed to give me a double prescription. More money for me.
"Tell your mother I said hi", called Dr. Watson as I left the office.
"Yeah, right", I said, knowing mom would kill both of us if she knew what I was doing. Mom got her weight loss pills there, too. |
Submission Name: Faking Fat
