Winter 2002 • Vol. XXIV No. 1 New Voices |

Fat

I'm afraid things have gone to pot around here since you left. Cadbury has buried the remote control and I've let myself go. I know you think I should keep my nose clean and return to my studies; that's all very well, but I have less and less room to move. I could barely get out of bed this morning for the weight on the coverlet, though mind you there's no particular need to go to bed to go to sleep, now everythings so squishy. Have I embarrassed you? Face it, Boney, fat falls. In the neatest homes. In palaces and hovels! But we don't talk about it. Only a few greasy, fly-by-night presses put out the occasional pamphlet saying what we already know, just to épater les uptight. That means you, Jack. But once we read them to each other like pornography. "Let a house be scraped down to the last layer of paint the night before, it will be buttered by morning; leave it for a week and fat will round every contour. Vacation homes fill with fat; fat bursts the boards from old barns,

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