Bigger (The Nicky Beets series) by Erin Mayes Read Free Book Online Page B

much sense. I would have to stay in
the dorms.

 
 
 
    My physical reaction to the conversation with my mother was instant. I
needed food, and a lot of it, as quickly as I could get it.
    I recognized it for what it was – I’m not stupid. I know I eat to
cope with my emotions. Or maybe I eat so I don’t have to cope with my emotions.
    Maybe I am stupid.
    In any case, what was certain was that whether sweet, salty, smooth or
crunchy, I needed to eat something the USDA would never include in the Food
Pyramid. Empty calories, stat.
    Sometimes us fat folk are mindless eaters and will eat whatever high-calorie
food is most readily available. These are the kinds of fat people I don’t
understand, even though they’re a lot more similar to me than I want to
believe. Just shoving in fast food that all tastes the same, without regard to
variety or quality makes no sense to me.
    I’m the kind of fat girl you want to consult about your dining choices in
the Bay area, because I know a thing or two about the restaurant scene. I’m a
walking, talking restaurant guide. I read reviews in the newspaper and often
try new places. Although I often feel self-conscious about being that fat girl who dares to eat food in
an actual restaurant, my love for all things flavorful and delicious overpowers
my shame. Plus, I reason, I practically have business purposes for eating out
– all of my restaurant meals and reviews are featured on my blog.
    Maple glazed bacon apple donuts. Yes. That was what it would be this
particular morning. Sweet, salty, comfortingly warm, squishy, and satisfyingly
crunchy. I already had my keys in my hand and was walking out the door. I would
pick up donuts on the way to work; enough for people in the office, so it would
look like an act of benevolence instead of gluttony. Classic fat-girl move.
    I’d be doubling back in order to make a visit to Dynamo Donuts, which
would no doubt include a fun few minutes of circling the block for a parking
spot, and I would be late to work, but if I didn’t get the donuts nothing would
be right for the rest of the day.

 
 
    This morning’s outfit included my only other pair of arguably
work-appropriate slacks. I’d picked them up for twenty-five dollars at one of
those crappy stores where the clothes are so poorly made they don’t usually
last beyond a few tumbles in the wash. A blend of polyester, rayon and spandex,
the fabric had begun to pill something fierce in the crotch area due to major
thigh-rubbing action. This was an embarrassing situation and certain to soon
result in the fabric wearing away completely to leave two gaping holes in the
crotch. Which meant I’d soon need to buy another pair of pants, and there was
nothing I hated more these days than buying pants.
    The only good thing about the rayon monstrosities is that they fit
loosely and comfortably. I nestled myself cozily in the driver’s seat of my
car, twisting my pant legs into the correct positions since the fabric liked to
stick to the car upholstery. Time to get the show on the road.
    Visions of fresh maple bacon apple donuts were dancing in my brain, but
freeway congestion was preventing my speedy acquisition of pastry. It seemed
that some wrathful traffic god was trying to prevent me not only from obtaining
donuts, but from being even remotely close to on time to work – which
wasn’t going to happen regardless of whether I made a stop on the way at this
point. Sitting at a dead stop on Interstate 80, I broke into an anxious sweat
and tapped my fingers frantically against the steering wheel.
    An hour later, I’d managed to cross the Bay Bridge and buy a dozen
donuts, in addition to a separate bag of donuts for myself, well-hidden in my
immense purse. I couldn’t risk being left without my favorites, or without
enough of them; not in an emotional emergency like this one. And in truth, I
would normally get myself my own bag, anyway. Another fat-girl move.
    When it came time to park near my