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Okay Colleen, play it cool, girl. You can do this. You’re just another mom with their kid going to the park. Nothing strange. Nothing weird. Just gonna take that little shit Caleb to the park, and sit next to that big girl and maybe get talking to her. Or not. We’ll just see how it goes. Anything can happen. But you ain’t gonna win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket. And I am sure as Hell gonna get myself a ticket to see whoever that large lady was.

Okay, rewind Colleen, you’re getting ahead of yourself again. You’re getting over-excited and rushing and you know you say all kinda stupid shit when your mouth starts going. So, first up, I suppose I gotta tell you what’s what, before you go raising one of your eyebrows at me like your Roger Moore or whatever. So, I was just going for a run, I think it was last Tuesday or something, and I saw this woman and, well, I ain’t never seen a woman like her before. Like, I didn’t know where to put my eyes, everywhere I looked she was there. She was that big. Oh my god, you could catch a train to get from one hip to the other, there was such a large distance between the two.

I mean, I just knew I had to meet this woman. Like, I ain’t one for hyperbolization, but I think I might just be in love. Oh, Jesus, listen to me all lovelorn or whatever, saying I’m in love with a woman I ain’t even exchanged hellos with. But she was so pretty, and she was so big. I mean, I’d just love to get lost in all that. Hell, I’d just drown in the woman.

So yeah, I guess this is the point at which I confess to liking large ladies. It ain’t a thing I’m ashamed of, but it ain’t exactly something I keep in the public knowledge either. I reckon my momma knows, just from seeing all the girls I used to bring home, but she ain’t never said nothing. She’s a McCormick. We ain’t exactly the touchy feely type. Anything that a McCormick wants to say, they say it via the medium of insult. Just the way it is in our family. If you like something, you insult it. You passionate about something, you insult it. Us McCormicks don’t go approaching our feelings head on, we tend to take the scenic route to self-expression, via the way-mark of an insult.

Right, it’s after lunch so she should be there. You gotta give this woman a bit of time, I’m thinking, to have a lunch cos she looks like the kinda woman who eats a lot of lunch. But, by my calculations, I’m fairly sure she should be getting to that park any minute now. So, I best be grabbing young Caleb as my wingman and making myself familiar with her.

Oh god, I can see her, even from back here. Oh god, this is real. I’m really doing this. Colleen, get a grip. This ain’t fancy. She’s just gonna treat you like a regular joe, just another mom watching their stupid kid play in the park. She don’t know that your cheeks are burning on the inside. She don’t know how much you wanna lose yourself in among all them rolls. She’s just gonna smile and say polite, cordial things like it ain’t a big deal. And all you have to do, Colleen, is just act normal. Don’t say nothing about her size and whatever you do, don’t insult her. I mean, how hard can that be?

I almost wish I lived on this site, like my sister does, just so I could spend more time with her. That’s when I first saw her, I was spending a bit of time with my sister. Glad that I did, the way things have turned out cos I. Am. Obsessed with this woman. When I dream, all I see is her and that belly just sloshing about in slow motion. I tell you, that is not a dream I like waking up from.

And we’re walking up to her now and I swear to God she’s even bigger now. Look at the size of her. She looks like something Greenpeace might protect. I can only see the back of her and I swear to Heaven almighty that she is as wide as I am tall. I am not exaggerating. Well, maybe a little. But, point is, she one healthy sized momma. And momma needs love. Hopefully. My love. Oh God, I love her. And I’d love to love every inch of her. Every ripple. Every bundle of skin. I’d make her my queen and I would treat her like the queen that she is. And she’s never with a husband so here’s hoping she’s a single mom. Cos I’d look to put a ring on her finger, and I ain’t talking about the gold band.

Okay, here we go. It’s go time, Colleen. A few deep breaths and then send Caleb off to play with her little rats, and then introduce yourself, but all casual like. It ain’t hard. You can do this. Nothing about this woman is hard, she’s all soft. So, just do it as you practiced in the mirror, say what you need to say, and then hopefully we get ourselves some time with the most beautiful woman I have ever before witnessed. God, I wish I paid more attention at school when we were studying poetry or whatever cos I just do not have the vocabularization to express how amazing and enormous this woman is.

“Go on Caleb, play with your new playmates” I say to the little monster. And wingman deployed, he runs off towards her little girl to see-saw or whatever, I ain’t fussed. As long as he keeps her kids plenty occupied so I get some time with my white whale. Oh, come on Caleb! Don’t let me down now. He looks back at me, all insecure and jittery, looking for reassurance. I mean, I guess I don’t often take him to the park, but still… don’t ruin this for me now Caleb! And god, don’t show me up cos I think she might be checking me out. I’m trying not to look, tryna keep my focus on ushering Caleb to play with her kids, Things #1 and #2. But I can feel her eyes burning as she looks at me from the side. I’m kinda holding my breath in, hoping that she sees me as the sexy skinny woman I used to be before I kicked in cross-country. Next to her, I’m gonna look so skinny anyway that I hope it won’t be a problem.

And here it goes. Caleb’s run off and now’s my chance. The chance to make my move. Come on girl, don’t waver. And, whatever you do, do not fuck this up. Just ask to sit next to her on the bench. Nothing mean or malicious about that. Just sit down next to her so you can both watch the children play or whatever it is that moms do at parks.

“Do you mind if I sit there next to you? Looks like there’s still a little bit of room left. It’s Colleen by the way” I say to her as an introduction. And Oh come on! Really Colleen? You open that goddamn mouth just once and already you’re cracking fat jokes at this wonderful woman’s expense. Bite your tongue sister. You cannot do that. Just keep it simple. Nothing fancy. And no fat jokes. For the love of god, no more fat jokes Colleen. I just hope she didn’t notice.

“I’m Mandy Lee, and was that bench remark a crack about my weight?” she said, and fuck, I guess she noticed. Oh Lord, that was not a good first impression to make. I’m pretty good at impressions on the whole. I do a hilarious Helen Hunt impression, and I can do Britney too. Give it the full “oh baby, baby”. I’m great at them. But first impressions are not one of the ones I can do. And now I’m floudering cos I’m up shit creek without anything for a paddle. And she told me her name as well, and what a pretty name it is too. Mandy Lee. Of course she’s a Mandy Lee, just look at her. She just looks like a Mandy Lee doesn’t she. Hair all blonde and stylish, and what a pretty face too. Mandy Lee, Mandy Lee, Mandy Lee. Oh, the things I want to do to you, Mandy Lee.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s my mouth. I sometimes just blurt out these things without even thinking about it. But I swear, I don’t mean nothing personal by it” I apologize cos I truly didn’t mean nothing by it. My mouth, it’s just a Gatling gun at times, firing off round after round of insult before I even have time to realize what the hell I am doing. And when I apologize, I touch her. I just put my hand on her arm to say sorry. Just friendly, she has no reason to read anything more into it. But, my god do I like the touch of her. Her skin is so soft and padded like a cushion. And there’s just so much of it, and it just feels so good. I pull my hand back, terrified of over-reaching and revealing my hand. Best keep things platonic. For now. Just play it cool Colleen.

“So, are you a full-time mom like me?” she says and oh god, oh god, she’s talking to me. She’s interacting with me. She must like me, she must like me. Sound the “she must like me” klaxon cos she must like me. Oh, her voice too. Her voice sounds like honey and culture, real old-fashioned sounding like the kinda women my mom would hang around with. It’s really hot, I ain’t gonna lie. I try to steal a glance at her chest as she asks me, but there’s just too much chest to take in without ogling. Oh, she’s magnificent. I want her to smother me.

Wait, what was it that she asked? Oh, am I a full-time mom. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. No, too soon. This is too soon to start lying. I just wanna sit down next to the world’s sexiest whale and feel the rolls of her skin press against my skinny ass. Maybe talk, but not about this. About motherhood… boring. About whether I am single or not… awkward. Oh, she’s gonna be one of them all-about-the-family women, isn’t she? Oh god, I can’t stand them. My sister’s like that and it Drives. Me. Crazy. It’s like, cool, that little rat crawled out of you and now the rest of you has to stop existing because of it. Mom is not a personality, for fuck sake.

So, what am I gonna answer. I’ll just lie, I guess. Can’t arouse suspicion. That’s the last thing I wanna arouse. There are certainly things I wanna arouse more. I’ll lie. I’ll say I have a husband or some dumb shit. That sounds relateable, right. I’ll just tell him I have a regular husband and blah blah blah, we’re so happy, blah, blah, blah, can you sit on my face? That kinda thing.

“Oh, Heavens no! We need two incomes to survive! My husband works during the day, and I work at night. We pass each other at the front door, haha!” I tell her, like it’s just me plucking the truth from my brain. I am such a good liar at times. See, it’s cos I got a sense of humor. Cos humor and dishonesty are sisters. Most jokes aren’t true. There ain’t really no chicken crossing no road. No, having a sense of humor is about knowing how to say something in a way that will generate a certain response. And lying is exactly the same.

Plus, it was a believable lie, right? The working nights thing was true, cos the trick to lying is keep as close to the truth as you can. Bullshit has a certain smell so you don’t wanna drift too far from the truth cos they’ll start sniffing the air and saying “can you smell that?” like they The Rock or something. But, husband and wife on alternating shifts to look after the kids sounds about right, right? That’s how normal couples work? Oh, I’m just guessing, I have no idea really. Who wants a husband now anyhow?

But she ain’t even looking at me. I’m fixing my stare right at her, trying to create one of them emotional connections. But she just looking at Things #1 and #2 playing on the park. She’s even laughing at the boy going down the slide. In what way is that funny. It’s just a kid going down a slide. I just don’t get it. I just don’t get parents. What the hell they obsessing over their kids for? They ain’t even developed social skills yet, they’re just two legged dogs at this stage, fucking things.

“Oh my, that sounds like a hard schedule. So, you only get to see your husband on the weekends?” she asks, and she genuinely seems to care. Sweet thing. She’s all emotionally involved in the life of my fictional husband and I. If she asks, I’m gonna call him Terrence. No, Charles. That sounds fancier.

“Yeah, pretty much. You know, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder but, for me, having a husband is about all I can stand” I laugh. Cos that’s what married couples say, right? I’ve been with enough to know that the trick to married life is just to not spend time with them, and then joke about how much they annoy you. I bet it’ll be common ground, and me and Mandy Lee will bond over it, and then we’ll laugh, and eventually we’ll make out and I’ll get to fondle the blubber on her arms. That’s the plan anyway.

Oh, but she recoils as I say it, and I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. Stupid, stupid mistake. Course she’s the type of woman that obsesses over her husband, or ‘her man’ as she probably puts in Facebook posts to nobody. ‘I just love my man’ and all that kinda dumb shit. I just… well I can’t stand it. It’s kinda gross if you ask me. But now I know I’ve fucked up and she’s looking at me like I just insulted the Pope or some shit. Kiddy-fiddling fucker that he probably is. Oh shit, I just hope she forgives me. Cos I wanna feel her flesh so bad.

“My husband’s a fireman, so he’s gone a lot too. I miss him terribly. It’s not that it gets lonely without him, I live just down the street with my mother-in-law and the two kids, but I do miss him still” she bleats. Doesn’t she realise that she doesn’t need to be lonely without him. She can have me. She can have me anyway she likes. Look, I try to understand what she’s talking about, I pull my best emotionally-invested face, and I’m a pretty good actor, but it’s hard to give two fucks about some fireman keeping her warm at night when it should be me who does that. I bet he don’t respect her like I would. I bet he don’t cherish her body. Not like I would. I would put her body on a plinth and pray in its direction four times a day.

And she also lives with her step-mom? Oh dear girl. That ain’t a good luck, sister. Good job I am crushing on you plenty cos your words ain’t exactly serenading me. Oh, I wonder if this step-mom teases her for her weight. Oh, that would be fun if she calls her ‘fatty’ or ‘piggy’. Oh I hope so. Come on God, let me have this one.

“Oh, I live near the park entrance. Hey, I gotta ask… does your mother-in-law bug you about your weight?” I ask, and I can’t wait to find out the answer. Oh shit, wait a second. Have I blown this? Have I been to forward? No, wait. I think I might be onto something here. She’s checking me out. No, really. I saw her eyes scale up and down my body like a Sherpa. I breathed in, gotta hide the extra weight I’m carrying. Damn weight, been creeping up on me ever since I quit running, all to the tune of 40lbs. I’m now a 150lbs whale. Though I don’t feel like much of a whale next to Mandy Lee. I wonder if she’s ever been this thin. Oh, I hope she has. I hope she has only recently blown up. I hope that she was really skinny all through school and then, with the kids and everything, she’s just blown up these past few years. I bet she’s over 300lbs. And I think this 300lb woman wants me. And I sure as fuck-diddle-fuck want her too.

“No. Just the opposite really. She enjoys cooking and feeding us, so if I’m not careful, I’m going to balloon up to 400” she says and I hope she ain’t looking at my face as she says it, cos my poker face has fallen to pieces, folks. 400. Wow. 400. I just… wow. Oh, and she laughs as she says it, like it ain’t worth no fuss. Woah. It sounds like she’s gonna be getting there sooner more than later. She’s more than 200lbs heavier than me. Just 200lbs of cake or donuts or whatever is she eats, just someone on that juicy body of hers. Oh, I bet she’s got a sweet tooth. She looks like the kinda woman who don’t bother with buffalo wings or barbequed ribs. Just straight to dessert. 400lbs. I just… I just want her so bad. I’ll feed her up to that in no time. Please just give me the chance.

“How much do you weight now, Mandy?” I ask, and I bite my lip as I say it. 350lbs maybe? 360 even?

“380 pounds” and my jaw hits the floor, like in one of the Loony Toons cartoons. I just can’t help myself. She must be doing this on purpose, right? This is her flirting, right? Oh, I hope so. Maybe she likes to be teased about it.

“Oh...my...gawd! You do realize, if you got any bigger, Camelot would have to charge you for an extra trailer space” I tease, and look at her face to judge her response. Please be turned on. Please be turned on. Oh shit, I don’t think she’s turned on. She laughs still, cranes her head back and laughs so loud I think everybody on the trailer park can hear her, but her face shows hurt. She ain’t as good an actor as me, or as good a liar as me. But, she just keeps laughing so at least she thinks I’m funny.

“Ha! Ha! Very funny. It’s actually my OWN mother who drives me crazy about my weight. She nags me so much, I end up doing a lot of emotional eating to relieve the stress.” she confides in me. She’s confiding in me, folks. I think I might be in here. Come on Colleen, say something sympathetic, no, wait, say something empathetic. Show you care. Show compassion. Sisterhood. All that hippy bull crap. Tell her she looks pretty. No, too obvious. Plus, I’ll get it wrong and be too forward and accidentally say I wanna bury my face in her belly or something. How much I want her on top, leaning down and smothering me with her breasts. At least, I think that’s how it would work. Hoenstly, I ain’t never been with another woman before, and never with one as big as her. I’ve hung out with big girls, and made out with big girls, but I just keep getting friendzoned. They laugh off our kiss, say we were both just experimenting and we’re just friends and I just wanna scream at the top of my lungs that I am not experimenting and we’re not just friends. But I never do. I just laugh and agree, and things go back to normal. But not this time. This woman’s my white whale, my Mody Dick. And she can even call me Ishmael if she likes.

“What does your husband think about all this?” I probe. I was aiming for empathy. And I know she’s ‘all about her man’ or whatever. But, honestly, I’m hoping he nags her too, and she’s thinking of leaving him. She deserves to be with someone who respects her and her body. Who treats her the way she deserves to be treated. Someone like me. And I’ll tell her that I’ll respect her and her body. I’ll treat her the way she deserves to be treated. I’ll tell her that I think she’s beautiful. And then we’ll kiss. And it will be perfect. And I’ll have my Moby Dick. I’ve never wanted Dick so bad, ha!

“As I said, he’s not at home much, but when he is here, he plays with the kids and likes to cuddle my big body. I guess he’s one of those guys they’d call a chubby chaser” she tells me and that was not what I was hoping for and not what I was expecting. Her husband’s a chubby chaser too? I mean, I guess it makes sense. She clearly loves him, so he presumably loves her. And you can’t love a woman as big as her without love how big she is. But still… a fucking chubby chaser? You gotta kidding me. That was supposed to be my ‘in’. And now he’s just jizzed all over my plan just like he probably jizzes all over her amazing body. God, men are disgusting. She needs to be with someone like me. I’ll show her what a chubby chaser really does. I bet he isn’t really. I bet he just says that. I bet she’s never felt every roll like I would. I need to show her. I need to show her he ain’t a real chubby chaser. I am. She needs to be with me, goddammit. Please.

“Now I see why he has no problem with it. He gets to fuck a new wrinkle every night!” I tease, and I know it will shock her, but I hope it will also turn her on. I need this. Lord, let me have this. I just look at the way she fidgets on this bench and, oh my god, I ain’t never seen so much jiggle on one person. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much jiggle spread over three different people. At first, she kinda flinches and I’m wondering if she might be one of them prudes. Oh dear,, if that’s the case then that needs fixing and fixing fast. Oh Mandy Lee, you’re too sexy to be self-conscious. But then she starts to laugh and loosen up a bit and that’s when the jiggles start. Little tremors of blubber pulsing through her skin.

Oh, and give me half a chance Mandy Lee and I’ll be such a bad influence on you. I’ll do such sexy fattening things with you. And, I swear you’re into me. Maybe you’re lying about your marriage being as rosy as your cheeks. Maybe your a listless housewife looking for a naughty fix. Oh Mandy Lee, let me be your naughty fix. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll bring cake.

“That’s an awful thing to say… even though it IS kinda true” you confess, and don’t go trying to tell me this is just a conversation between friends. The way you giggle as you say it, like you know it’s bad and that’s what makes it so good. See, nobody laughs at jokes that much unless they got their eye on somebody. I have laughed at so many bad jokes by beautiful women over the years, and don’t try to tell me this ain’t you doing the same but in reverse. You want me Mandy Lee, I can tell. I got one of them dars. Not a radar or a gaydar. I got a sexy-fat-lady-wants-to-be-fucked-and-fed-by-me-dar. It could do with a shorter name but that don’t stop it from working real good. Oh please be into me, Mandy Lee, just as much as I want my fingers to be into you. I think high time I started making my move on you, Mandy Lee.

“Has he ever tried to get off between those two white whales of yours?” I ask, and I lower my voice as I do it, to sound all seductive like. Like in the movies. I swear I tried to give myself one of the sexy ScarJo voices, back when ScarJo was sexy and not culturally just appropriating everything. Hell, I just ended up sounding like I was giving a BJ a furball, which ain’t exactly the level of sex appeal I was aspiring to.

And she laughed. Like that was a joke. Look, which bit was she finding funny cos there was no joke. It was a question. It was a sexy question. It was a sexy question about her sexy breasts. It weren’t like it was a nervous laugh, it was another one of head tilt, chest out and bark laughs that I’m coming to recognize may be her style. Was she just one of the women without a sense of humor? The kinda people who post on Facebook “OMG ilu jake haha” like telling somebody you love them is somehow both the set-up and the punchline.

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer! I’ll just say that he likes my breasts...a lot. Ha! Ha!” she laughs and I guess I better laugh too. God, if she were 200lbs lighter, she would be the kinda woman I’d hate. Laughing at your own jokes is bad enough, but least make them funny. And he likes her breasts. Oh, lay off it! I like her breasts. I’d go full-on and eulogize about her breasts. Write poems about her breasts. If I took her out for a meal, I’d buy a meal for each of her breasts too, and pay. I. Love. Her. Breasts. He’s probably just likes them like some pervert kinda way. I mean, he’s a fireman. I thought all of them were closeted homosexuals anyway. Thought that’s what the whole thing with the fireman’s pole and the fireman’s hose was all about. I’ve seen less poorly repressed gayness in the writings of Oscar Wilde.

Maybe talking ain’t the way with her. Maybe she says it best when she says nothing at all. It ain’t her personality that I find hot, apart from the part of her personality that says yes to dessert. I like that bit. But the whole mom and wife routine. Gimme a break, who does that crap? It’s the 21st freaking century, and she’s propping up the patriarchy with those massive tits of hers. Her personality in as bland as her hair is blonde, and about as insipid as her ass is lipid. But she’s so hot. Not cute, not pretty, though she’s both those things too. No she just about the hottest woman alive. She looks like two plus-size women sitting next to each other, that’s how hot she is.

But she’s just going back to watching her two little rats fuck around on the park like they ain’t just doing the same thing over and over. I watch Caleb too. He seems happy enough I guess. Oh, shit, you know what, life’s too short. I’m gonna lean on her. I’m just gonna tilt my head to the side and lean on her. I’m gonna feel her warmth and her plushness against me. Yeah, go on Mandy Lee, let me in. Oh yeah, this is nice. Comfortable. I could stay here. Forever. Oh Lord, please just let me stay here forever. It don’t even need to be sexy. Just warm. God, her body radiates heat like it’s Chernobyl, and Lord I want her roentgens.

Wait. Wait. Is she… is she putting her arm around me? Oh fuck. Oh fuck, it’s real folks. This is happening. This is happening. Mandy Lee, whose arm I swear to God is about the size my waist before I gave running, has wrapped her arm around me. Time? Time, if you’re listening? Yeah? Yeah, you can stop now. Just leave me here forever. I worry I’m being an asshole. Lying every which way but Sunday just to sit next to this woman, and fantasizing with every neuron left in my imagination how great it would be to wreck her home. But this just makes all of it worthwhile. This is what I want.

You know, my momma never hugged me. She was a bitch. She was a McCormick. Nothing ever good enough. Great was never good enough. First was never good enough. I was never good enough. My sister was never good enough. When my sister had her kid, my momma basically just disowned her, like she was a Netflix subscription and they just canceled her favorite show. And when I stopped running, it was the same. She never said it, McCormicks don’t do talk that means shit, only vapid stuff or tired jokes by tired people. But, I put on the first 10 of the 45lbs I’ve gained in the past year or two and she just shut down like she had updates or something. Well mom, if you’re listening, I’m being hugged. And I’m being hugged by the woman of my dreams. So screw you for treating me like I wasn’t fit to be your daughter, the moment I stopped being fit enough to run a 10k. You know, for all her touchy-feely mom bullcrap, I bet Mandy Lee would give a fuck. She’s nice. I guess that’s what it is. And it’s weird to me and I ain’t used to it. McCormicks weren’t taught what nice meant and I guess I just never learned. But all the annoying shit about perfect mom Mandy Lee was probably just niceness. Shit, she really is my perfect woman. I bet she wouldn’t judge me for quitting running. Shit, I mean, she’d be a hell of a hypocrite if she did.

“I used to be a cross country runner in High School, so I know what it’s like to be an athlete, but in college I lost interest” I told her. And I don’t know what I hoped for her to day. Something like, ‘well, you’re still a pretty young thing’ I guess, or ‘you still look like you could outrun a fox’. But, you know what she did? She listened. She just listened. And there was no punchline at the end of the sentence to diffuse the tension or make the serious humorous. She listened and it just meant the world to me. I just need to stop being a McCormick and be more like her. I can’t get over it, I just can’t. You don’t know what it’s like, to never have anybody listen to you and then have somebody… oh, please let’s just be in this moment together, Mandy Lee. And Colleen? Don’t fuck this up.

“I’m totally out of shape now, but I CAN’T imagine what it must be like in YOUR skin. The only thing that comes to mind is walking around in one of those inflatable sumo outfits” I follow up and WHAT DID I JUST SAY? Don’t fuck this up Colleen! And what did I just do? Why? Why did I say that? Why? It’s my father’s fault. He always does this. Cos it just wouldn’t do to experience proper emotions, would it now dad? To express how you feel? Oh no. No, everything has to have a punchline with him. And guess which daughter of his got that gene. Oh why oh why did I say that? “Gee, thanks” she says, and I guess I deserve that. “I suppose your husband is happy with your looks?”

Well, what do I tell her now? Cos, for those of you at the back who’ve not been paying attention, to many other windows open and only skin-reading, I don’t actually have a husband. But what would he say? Would the average man hold it against me, or would he love me unconditionally. I honestly don’t know it works, how men work. I mean, from what I know of these lesser member of the species, they don’t give a hoot about anything as long as its got tits and legs that open. That’s how they think, right? Or is that just how I think? God, I genuinely don’t know what I’m gonna say next.

“Let’s just say, he wouldn’t kick me out of the bed for eating crackers” I say, and I laugh. And she laughs. And maybe we’re bonding. Like, I don’t think what I said was funny, but she did. And maybe that’s what matters. Cos she’s real pretty when she smiles. Like magazine-pretty. And she has her arm around me and the blubber of it encases me like a chrysalis. I take back all the snarky things I said about her. I want her and I want her personality. I want all of her, and there is so much of her for me to want.

“Thanks. And again, I apologize for being rude. It’s just my sense of humor” I tell her, and I know, I know, I’m backpedaling. I’m retreating. All my sassiness is melting away like a waxwork at a furnace. I want her to like me. Maybe that’s all kindness ever was. Just wanting people to like you. I hope she likes me. Sure, I hope she loves me more. I hope I’ve lit a fire in a heart that no zephyr could ever extinguish. But, if worst comes to worst. I like her. And being her friend would be a pretty awesome plan B.

“That’s OK, I can take a joke. Here’s one for you. Do you know how I take a bath?” she says, and, I’m not gonna lie, I kinda braced for impact, y’know. Like, I love Mandy Lee, I really do. But she ain’t exactly a humorist, is she. I got a feeling I ain’t gonna be firing up the old rolfcopter with her. It’s weird, the things you think of as important. For me, there’s nothing more satisfying then the perfect witty insult aimed at the perfect witless asshole. But she’s nice. She’s nice and I like the way she laughs and I like the way she doesn’t judge me. But I still wanna explore her body so bad. Okay, here goes nothing, she’s about to tell her crappy little joke, and I gotta remember to laugh. Come on Colleen, you can laugh convincingly girl.

“No, tell me” I say, sounding a little too eager. And then we have a moment. I’m looking in her eyes and she’s looking in mine. I swear there’s chemistry. It’s a real moment. She wants me. I know she does. My I-wanna-have-sex-with-the-sexy-fat-lady-dar is chiming so bad right now. This is it, right? I should lean in? No, no, no, I can’t risk it. No. Just enjoy the moment. Colleen, just savor the moment cos it’s a good moment

“I fill the tub...then turn on the water. Ha! Ha!” she tells me, and she just erupts into another hearty one. And, goddammit, I’m laughing too. And genuinely. I mean, it wasn’t a bad joke, I take it back. Maybe there’s some wit inside all that after all. But, more importantly, it’s hard not to laugh when she does. I’ve heard the phrase infectious laugh before, but I always thought that was one of them bullshit things people say that don’t exist, like when people talk about the Great Depression, and I’m thinking, if it’s depression, then just how great can it actually be? But her laugh is infectious and, pass me the penicillin cos I think I’ve caught it.

“Hey! That wasn’t bad!” I tell her, and I don’t mean to sound surprised but maybe I’m not the great liar that I had you believe. Maybe that was just one of my great lies. Or maybe she makes me a bad liar. She’s hard to lie to. I just wanna tell her everything. But I can’t. I’ve told too many lies just to sit here next to her. No, I need her so bad, but I can’t risk losing her. And I’m just gonna tell her everything if I ain’t careful. Shit, I don’t wanna. No, I gotta go. Kids seemed to be finished playing and I’m gonna make that my cue to go. Cos she makes me wanna be a better woman, but I ain’t good enough to be a better woman. So I gotta go.

“You might try a little self-deprecation humor, yourself. It might balance out the insults” she tells me, and she says it with such a smile. The kinda smile that dentists put on posters. I know she’s only tryna help but the point is loud and clear. She thinks I’m mean. Shit, she actually thinks I’m mean.

The little shit, Caleb, comes over and I start to heave myself up. Suddenly the warm weather don’t seem as warm when you stop sitting next to the powerplant of a woman that Mandy Lee is. A little self-deprecation, she said. Well, maybe she’s right. I tease her about her weight, but I’m so insecure about how much weight I’ve put on since I quit running. I just keep eating. Hell, I’m sure I’m on track to be her size before I turn 30 too. Maybe I shouldn’t feel bad about it. Maybe I should make jokes about it. It’s not like gaining weight is a bad thing, when it’s someone else it is so very much a good thing. So maybe I will. Eat a little better, and tease myself instead of others. Yeah, I can do that.

“That’s a good tip! Well, I need to get going now. We’ll see you later, Mandy” I say, and I’m starting to sound like her. All sunshine and rainbows and unicorns and shit. But I will see her later. I will. I’ll come back and I’ll be better. I’ll be nicer. Like she is. I’ll be polite and a little self-deprecating, and maybe a little bigger too. And, hopefully, when I see her next, she’ll be a little bigger too, too. Not exactly a fine chance meeting in Camelot, but it could not have gone much better.

“Yeah, Hope to see you guys again soon. Bye, Colleen!” she tells me. And you know what that means. She wants to meet again. She wants to meet again, I want to meet again and I think she likes me. I watch her walk off, her wide ass swaying like a Newton’s cradle. And I walk back too, with a smile on my face and plans in my head.

Back to my sister’s place. She thanks me for looking after her son, and I try to explain that the little shit was no problem. And then I tell her I met someone. I mean, we have nothing in common, but I like that fact. I like that she’s different. She’s nice. And then I tell my sister I might be hungry actually, and can I stay over for dinner. She does the greatest pecan pie you’ve ever had and I don’t think Mandy Lee would mind a few pounds on me. Make both of us sitting on that bench a bit tighter. Here’s to another ‘chance’ meeting in Camelot.