Billy wanted just one
more jelly-infused donut. That was all. He was not asking for another
pizza; he had already consumed 12 slices of sausage and mushroom.
Presently at a restaurant, Billy was asking for more food, but the
waiter refused to get him anymore. He just wanted dessert. How hard
would it be for the waiter to go to the front desk and get a fried
piece of dough out of the display cabinet? Could the waiter not
afford to burn those calories? Billy just couldn’t take it anymore.
Just because he was fat, people did not have the right to limit his
food intake. This was one thing when it was his mother refusing him
another chunk of brownie batter, but quite another when strangers
refused to feed him when he was PAYING for the food. How could these
people possibly override his free will to stuff his face as full as
he wanted?
The waiter returned to Billy’s table with one hand full and the other empty. The package was a bill, and not the greasy goodness Billy was hoping for. This was the last time. Billy had had enough.
¨Everyone in this restaurant, listen up, the heavy weight is speaking.¨ All eyes careened from their natural position and rested on different areas of Billy´s body. One guy was staring at the multiple folds of Billy´s neck. A woman was looking at the gut that was hanging out from underneath Billy´s small shirt. The protrusion was sickening. White, whale fat would have looked appetizing compared to the blubber roll showcased to Ella´s diner.
¨I am fed up with all of you all telling me how to live my life. I chose my own destiny. I refuse to be controlled by you bumbling fools. You are the problem. My obesity has nothing to do with the issues here at hand. Just because I might be classified by my doctor in a category of morbidity, does not give you permission to ruin my emotional life by stamping on my feelings.¨
Billy waddled out of the diner, flagged down a taxi, and was dropped off at his house. Once inside, Billy shuffled over to his fridge to find that leftover bacon from his morning meal. Six fine pieces remained. Billy sat down at his kitchen table, the chair creaking at the sudden onset of weight. Billy´s mind mused about his condition. Who was he to deny that he could die any day because of the extra person he carried around with him? If it wasn’t the diabetes or the physical over-exertion from just walking around that was going to kill him, it would just be some other mundane death. He might as well go out of this world with pleasure ringing from his palate.
The first strip had been guzzled down along with a swig of eggnog. The second was soon to follow. Nearing the fifth piece, Billy noticed the skinny mailwoman plop a envelope in his box. This was most surprising. So stunning, in fact, that Billy started choking on his bacon. The whole piece had become lodged in his throat. Flashes of slim images of himself raced through his mind. That was the dream, this was the reality. Billy was going to die from the very item that gave him the most pleasure, and the most pain, in life. The pig died from a portion of pig.
The waiter returned to Billy’s table with one hand full and the other empty. The package was a bill, and not the greasy goodness Billy was hoping for. This was the last time. Billy had had enough.
¨Everyone in this restaurant, listen up, the heavy weight is speaking.¨ All eyes careened from their natural position and rested on different areas of Billy´s body. One guy was staring at the multiple folds of Billy´s neck. A woman was looking at the gut that was hanging out from underneath Billy´s small shirt. The protrusion was sickening. White, whale fat would have looked appetizing compared to the blubber roll showcased to Ella´s diner.
¨I am fed up with all of you all telling me how to live my life. I chose my own destiny. I refuse to be controlled by you bumbling fools. You are the problem. My obesity has nothing to do with the issues here at hand. Just because I might be classified by my doctor in a category of morbidity, does not give you permission to ruin my emotional life by stamping on my feelings.¨
Billy waddled out of the diner, flagged down a taxi, and was dropped off at his house. Once inside, Billy shuffled over to his fridge to find that leftover bacon from his morning meal. Six fine pieces remained. Billy sat down at his kitchen table, the chair creaking at the sudden onset of weight. Billy´s mind mused about his condition. Who was he to deny that he could die any day because of the extra person he carried around with him? If it wasn’t the diabetes or the physical over-exertion from just walking around that was going to kill him, it would just be some other mundane death. He might as well go out of this world with pleasure ringing from his palate.
The first strip had been guzzled down along with a swig of eggnog. The second was soon to follow. Nearing the fifth piece, Billy noticed the skinny mailwoman plop a envelope in his box. This was most surprising. So stunning, in fact, that Billy started choking on his bacon. The whole piece had become lodged in his throat. Flashes of slim images of himself raced through his mind. That was the dream, this was the reality. Billy was going to die from the very item that gave him the most pleasure, and the most pain, in life. The pig died from a portion of pig.
Billy
wanted just one more jelly-infused donut. That was all. He was not
asking for another pizza; he had already consumed 12 slices of
sausage and mushroom. Presently at a restaurant, Billy was asking for
more food, but the waiter refused to get him anymore. He just wanted
dessert. How hard would it be for the waiter to go to the front desk
and get a fried piece of dough out of the display cabinet? Could the
waiter not afford to burn those calories? Billy just couldn’t take
it anymore. Just because he was fat, people did not have the right to
limit his food intake.
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