Writing for Fun
January 2020
Gluttony - Anne Wilson
I must try and think of something else. Global warming, the meaning of life, even the after-effects of BREXIT … anything to take my mind off it.
How long is it now? Three hours? No: I mustn’t kid myself – more like an hour and a half. It’s pathetic. I’m pathetic. Do I really want to end up like one of those people who gets carried out of their bedroom into a waiting ambulance, with builders taking the door down so your massive frame can squeeze through? No, of course I don’t. Just think of the indignity of people reading the headlines in the local newspaper the next day … ‘WOMAN IN RESCUE OPERATION FROM BEDROOM.’ Then an article showing my age and my weight. Horror of horrors; maybe one even listing my name. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Not that I’m quite at that stage yet but I will be if I carry on the way I am.
I know, I’ll see what’s on television. Nothing like a bit of escapism to provide some momentary distraction. The evening film, that should do the trick. Now, what’s on? Oh, my God … ‘Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.’ All the soaps are on tonight, of course but I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than watch one. So, what else is on this evening? Wouldn’t you know it … ‘The Great British Bake Off?’ I would say I’m fed up with not eating, if that wasn’t such a contradiction in terms.
Perhaps I could go and see a film. Mind you, it’s short notice to ask anyone. Anyway, do I really fancy sitting in the dark on my own listening to someone next to me slavering over an enormous bucket of popcorn? I wouldn’t mind if it was that salty kind but I’d be really hacked off it was the caramel. Worse still, someone continually rustling into a mega bag of pick and mix sweets and sucking them for the duration of the film. I don’t think I could last the distance without grabbing the bag from them.
Would a little snack do so much harm? I’m sure it wouldn’t if it was in moderation. That’s what my father used to say. ‘Everything In Moderation.’ I could have one finger of the KitKat rather than two? Or maybe two instead of four of the larger one? Either way I’d be cutting down.
Sorry, I can hear the phone ringing. I’m going to have to leave you for a few minutes.
Back now. I expect you want to know who it was. Well, it was a close friend of mine, Sonia. Nice girl. Very sociable. Any other time but now I’d have been delighted to hear from her but when you’re undergoing a crisis of this kind you don’t necessarily want to hear about what a wonderful restaurant someone’s been to and what they’ve had for each course. Honestly, I was drooling whilst she was telling me about it. I’d love some of that food right now. God, how I hate her!
I can do this. I know I can. I’m a strong person. I cut right down on my drinking habit years ago and I’m as sober as a judge now. Never touch a drop, except the odd glass of wine with meals and a drink or two down at the pub. Not that I go that often. Two, maybe three times a week. Oh, and yes, I’ll have a glass or two if someone’s celebrating something special like a birthday or an anniversary. Well, it would be unsociable not to, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to boast about it but you just have to have the discipline.
I’m feeling a bit faint now from lack of nourishment. I think I may be wasting away. Perhaps what I’m doing is too drastic and I need to do it more gradually so my body will adjust? I heard two girls discussing gastric bands a few months ago but I thought it was a type of rock group so I didn’t pay much attention. Now I know what a ‘gastric band’ is perhaps I can ask everyone to club together and get me one for my birthday. That would be really nice.
Half past eight. I know, I’ll do a spot of reading. Intellectual nourishment, that’s what I need. What book shall I pick from my collection? Let’s see … ‘Breakfast At Tiffany’s?’ No, that only reminds me of the full English I missed this morning. When you’re used to bacon, eggs, sausage, baked beans and fried bread, muesli doesn’t hack it. ‘The Grapes of Wrath?’ Fine now I’ve cut down so much on the drinking but I’ve never got further than the first few pages. ‘Hannibal Lector?’ No, perhaps not.
Hang on a second, someone’s just phoned through on the buzzer. Will you bear with me while I answer it?
‘Who do you say you are? Pizza A Go-Go? No: this is Flat 29, not Flat 19. Well, I may let you in: that depends. What flavour is the pizza? Thick Crust pepperoni. One of my favourites. Oh, and there’s potato wedges too, plus garlic bread and a tub of strawberry ice cream? I see. Has it been paid for in advance? It hasn’t? What a shame, I saw the people from number 19 pop out a few moments ago. If you deliver the order to my flat I’ll pay you for it and see they get it as soon as they come back. Come right on up: I’ll be waiting for you.’
Well, what else could I do, everyone? I might have to lie low a bit once my neighbours find out their delivery’s not going to take place but you have to save people from their own excesses sometimes, don’t you? They’ll thank me for it in time.