Belle is at home, with her big cake sitting comfortably on the table before her very drooling self. She’s itching to get a taste. She’s dying to taste this sweet mix that’s sure to fly her spirits to heaven. She loves cakes, and the neighbors know that. They’re privy to this fact because sweet Belle always puts on a certain romantic song whenever she’s into this kind of juicy feasting session. Somebody said these cakes will kill her.
Her doctor has given up on her. “This woman is on her way to 6-feet under,” he said. He recalls of decades ago when a panic-stricken parent showed up at his office door with a fat little thing that looked like a fed doll. Little Belle had the look of an inflated ball made of human skin. But Dr. Kent was known to possess the wit of an old fox. He knew exactly what nasty Mrs. Johnson was doing to her child. “I’m afraid that woman feeding her kid junk food will make her grow into a big ball,” he once told his friend.
Twenty-Five years later, huge Belle is still at war with her health. A neighbor’s kid says she carries the weight of a pregnant elephant. Somebody got drunk in a local bar and said Belle can displace the water in a nearby swimming pool. This neighborhood is affluent. Belle had the grace of being born into a wealthy family. She can surely afford the biggest cake in town. But she can’t find the guts to keep her weight meter functional. Just outside in her trash bin are 3 weight scales that got broken under her very formidable mass.
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