There was a girl in high school, a true belle. She was beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, superlative, seductive, and beyond me in all ways, except for friendship. I desired her all these years, those decades since we were young. A surprise phone call: she was in town and wanted to meet. My belated chance?
We met at a donut shop and I saw she had enlarged herself to twice her normal size. I would have hugged her, but not even Michael Jordan with his elongated arms could have held her comfortably.
When I think of the loss of her beauty to fatness, I feel as I do when I hear of the loss of a great work of art to the nefarious hands of a deranged vandal.
Alas, that night when I returned home I assessed my looks in a full-size mirror. Far from being thin, I spent an energetic hour on my stationary bicycle. I counted my sit-ups and push-ups. The next day I would count calories and practice exercise as a religion, praying I would remain thinner than the old belle gone to pot.
I Wish I'd Written This
6 hours ago