Slim to None by Jenny Gardiner Read Free Book Online Page A

combined skirt, sweater, traveler’s jacket and Flexees will contribute to the overall poundage, and debate if it’s worth the humiliation of standing stark naked in the inner sanctum of the doctor’s office just to shave a few grams off the grande totale . I wipe my sweaty palms across my skirt as I debate my options.
    "Mrs. Jennings?" The nurse stands there, authoritative, with chart in hand. I notice her pen is red. This seems deliberate, her wanting to mark in bold, scarring color my Mount Kilimanjaro-of-a-scale-total.
    I draw a deep breath, exhale as much air as possible, and take a baby step onto the scale. So much for that exhalation, because suddenly I’m breathing so fast I fear I’ll hyperventilate. Which wouldn’t be so bad, because at least then I wouldn’t have to be awake for this moment of deep shame.
    I squeeze my eyes shut and hear the clanging of those metal squares as the nurse adjusts and re-adjusts the balance, which will certainly not be in my favor. No scales of justice here.
    The nurse starts to announce my weight in a voice as loud as a squad of cheerleaders belting out support for the home team: Two, four, six, eight, Abbie’s weight is really great!
    "Shhhhh!" I hiss. "If you don’t button your lip, I’m warning you, I actually own a set of Ginsu knives and I’m not afraid to use them! Keep that number to yourself !" She doesn’t know I mean I’d use the knives only to menacingly cut through aluminum cans, like they do on the infomercial; they’re really useless for cutting meat, anyhow. But that’s okay, because my veiled threat seems to shut her up. She goes through the nursing motions with me, taking my blood pressure (did she actually whistle when she saw how high it was?), pulse and drawing blood. Vampire nurse.
    "Go ahead and put on this gown and the doctor will be in to see you in a minute," Nurse Perky says, now looking a little intimidated. She exits the room, leaving me to my hospital gown. Which is mighty snug, I find, and leaves a gaping uncovered section of my back end, which would be somewhat tolerable if the exam table was up against the wall or something. But poised as it is, smack in the center of the room, leaving its occupant to lay in wait in mortified splendor, I have no choice but to look the fool. It’s one thing to be overweight, dressed head-to-toe in slimming black like a trendy Manhattan mortician. It’s downright humbling to be stripped down to this threadbare excuse for a baby diaper and left to shiver and await a virtual stranger’s gaze upon all that I’ve become.
    I hear a knock on the door. For a minute I think if I remain silent and still, he’ll go away. He knocks a second time, and then a third. Finally he cracks the door and peers in.
    "Oh, gosh, come on in!" I feign ignorance and play the hayseed, as if I simply hadn’t noticed his knocking. Golly, gee willikers!
    "Mrs. Jennings?" a hand reaches out to me and I divert my thoughts from my meandering mind to see before me this magnificent specimen of man-dom. Deep, saturated midnight blue eyes, thick, inky-black hair that gently waves across his head. Note to self: remember to kill Jess for recommending her hottie doctor to me. His smile is so dazzling, I expect to see a few asterisks pop up before my very eyes to emphasize the glean of his snow-capped teeth. And he has dimples. Which I think tend to make a man look more sincere, don’t you? No man with dimples would lie to a girl, is my supposition. Except that his stunning good looks merely serve to remind me of all of those men who treat fat chicks like me with disdain. Or who simply see right through us. I hate that.
    "Doc" Crenshaw doesn’t look so much Doc-like as he does god-like. Like some sort of Grecian God of Pulchritude or something. A quick memory-jog of high school mythology doesn’t stir up a recollection of any such god, but if there was, this man is certainly descended from him. I look at his name, inscribed against his