Pillow talk this is not, Adrianne thought as she rolled on to her
left side turning away from Clyde. What does he expect?
“You know, Clyde, this incessant harping is not doing either
of us any good. It’s the damn holidays for cryin’ out
loud,” she whined.
“Adrianne, I know it’s the holidays, but did you have
to eat the entire pumpkin pie? I’m trying to help you. Don’t
you want me to help you?”
“No, Clyde, I do not want your help. I’ve got Dr. Phil,
Dr. Atkins, and Dr. Laura to help me. I’ve got a membership
at Weight Watchers, a membership at the Y, and I’m a member
of Overeaters Anonymous. I know I shouldn’t have eaten the pie;
I shouldn’t have even had one piece. But, dang, Clyde, it’s
the holidays! Gimme a break.”
I’ll give you a break, Clyde thought as he rolled on to his
right side, facing the bedroom wall. My beautiful, petite bride has
turned into a Volkswagen. He could feel the warmth of his wife’s
body under the tent of blankets that covered them.
“Okay, Adrianne, you don’t want my help, what do you
want me to do — support you, threaten you, ignore you? Tell
me and I will try.”
“Aw, Clyde, I don’t know.” She shifted onto her
back; the mattress springs creaked and groaned under her, she lay
looking at the ceiling. “There’s nothing that anyone but
me can do. I know that.”
“But Adrianne, Honey, you have come so far. Seventy-nine pounds
in seven months is terrific. I don’t want to see you mess it
up just because a bozo dressed as a Pilgrim was handing out free pies
at Beaverton’s Food-Mall-atorium.”
“Yeah, well, at least I confessed my sin; O.A. says that’s
the first step.”
“Confessed, my ass, girl; you had pie crust all down the front
of your blouse and pumpkin-custard filling in you hair. You know eating
a pie and driving is not a good idea. What if you had hit someone?
Huh? Did you ever think of that, Adrianne?”
“Oh, Clyde shut up and go to sleep. Tell you what I’m
gonna do; I will use all but one of my memberships tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean tomorrow I will go to my Weight Watchers meeting, and
then go to the Y. When I get home, I will get online with my Overeaters
Anonymous sponsor. And Clyde, sweetie, I will even quit a membership.”
“Quit, quit what membership?”
“Come ‘ere, Clyde, snuggle me.” He burrowed into
Adrianne’s ample chest as she wrapped her arm around his neck.
She kissed the top of his bald head. “First thing in the morning,
I promise, Clyde, I’m going to cut up my membership card to
Costco! No more twelve-packs of doughnuts, no more double liters of
Coke, no more 30-inch pizzas. This pumpkin pie incident is the last
straw. I am a reformed woman.”
“That’s my gal.”
“And Clyde, then we can sign up for another membership,”
Adrianne giggled.
“What? What other membership?”
“Well, sweetie, I’m gonna enroll you in the Hair Club
for Men. By New Year’s Eve, I will be down to two-ten and you
will have a full head of hair.”
“Oh, Adrianne, you are fantastic — Happy Thanksgiving,
Sweetheart.”
Cristie Marcus, a full time Realtor and aspiring writer,
lives in Santa Rosa with her faithful pup, Cosmo. In 2004 she was
published in Bust Out, Women's Voices and the Pacific
Sun and published a collection of stories titled Just Shorts
which is available upon request.
