This was and is my life at least until Cane’s locks it doors – really well. I have never been skinny, no not even close. Okay, maybe one time, but I was looking in the wrong mirror.
You see, I have shopped on the first floor since day one. Never a ride on the escalator for the fat kid, they don’t trust our weight. Usually caddy corner from women’s shoes, the husky department is where I have my first fantasies of legs, thighs and breasts only wishing I could be the hand of one of the shoe salesmen. However, these fantasies were then overshadowed by the thought of the above mentioned body parts. Only this time extra crispy, please.
The fantasies never went beyond the large sign that read H-U-S-K-Y screaming, “welcome fat ass” over my head like the playground bully. You ever tried taking lunch money from a fat kid? You may win this time, Santa Ana. But you WILL remember the Alamo.
Meanwhile, black was never quite as slimming as they said. And they meant every word about horizontal stripes. Have you ever tried finding Saturn with a telescope? Don’t bother. You can see it in the Dillard’s dressing room much closer. Eat your heart out, Hubble.
Did you know you have to walk through the skinny boy section not to mention the cosmetic department just to get to the food court? How degrading. I should have known then. My parents always thought it was weird that I wanted to change my name to Sbarro.
Well, I’m not sure I ever found peace, but I did find a few more food courts and consequently a few more husky sections. I never did change my name, although I tried really hard once after a bad breakup, but she found me anyway.
Funny story.
If I would’ve known the way the night turned out, I would have prayed for a gun’s bullet to magically find its way to my temple. Like I said, she found me.
She was house-sitting for a friend who was out of town and said she was scared to be alone.
We downed a bottle of wine and watched Arma-get-it-on until we decided to go slow dance in the street while I sang Frank Sinatra in her ear.
Time for bed.
Meanwhile, her mighty attractive roommate walks in.
Here’s the sleeping arrangements – one bed, one couch.
“Jay can’t sleep on the couch,” she said in the most flirtatious voice I’ve ever heard. So, there I am – the salami in a white girl sandwich.
AND NOTHING HAPPENS.
In fact, my snoring drives both of them to the couch and I wake up alone in a king-sized bed that now dips a little in the middle.
As pathetic as this story is, it reminded me of a very valuable lesson – if you have to choose between food and women, choose the buffet. It is more satisfying and you will still have to unbutton your pants without getting any.