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

crisp, white doctor’s jacket, and see the name Dexter embroidered in blue. Dexter Crenshaw. Dex. I heave a sigh.
    "So, Mrs. Jennings, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
    I look at him, bedazzling man that he is, then glance down at me, overweight and busting out of a dingy hospital gown, and my spirits fall faster than an erection in a cold shower. Not that I’d be pursuing Dex-baby, anyhow. No! I’m happily married. Except I haven’t heard a thing from my husband since he disappeared on me at the zenith of my despair, so maybe I’m only half-happily married. My half. Haffily married, maybe. Although to be fair, William doesn’t even know about all that’s gone down in my life. I didn’t want to ruin his weekend with the details. So it’s not as if he’s deliberately avoiding me. Besides, I’ve got a man-god in front of me, and can’t a girl fantasize a little? Except when that moment of truth dope-slaps me into reality, like it or not. Abbie Jennings is not Dex Crenshaw material. I just wanted some old fellow named Doc Crenshaw, someone who wouldn’t snicker at my weight and embarrass me to no end.
    "Ms. Jennings?" he looks up at me over the chart, his eyebrow cocked up in inquisition. Which is what this feels like. The Inquisition. What’s it his business what I’m here for?
    I hem and haw over my words, not quite sure how to ‘fess up to the studly doc that I’m hear to discuss, er, um, uh, (diets! Shhhhhh!).
    "Says on your chart you wanted to discuss ways to ‘perhaps be less zaftig’ ," he reads in broken words verbatim from what I wrote on the registration forms. Right to the core of it, that’s me. Less zaftig . Who am I fooling?
    I squeak out a one-word reply. "Yeah."
    The doctor chuckles, shaking his head back and forth. "Less zaftig. Okay, then. First let’s talk about you."
    I don’t talk about me. I talk about food. It’s what I am known for. Me? Not so much. No one even knows about me. Well, they know about me, but they never knew who I was. Until now. Which reminds me of why I’m here.
    "I’m looking at your vital statistics," he says, leafing through some notes on my chart. Notes probably written in red. "To tell you the truth, Mrs. Jennings—"
    "Please, if I’m going to sit her in a state of virtual undress, we might as well be on familiar terms. I’m Abbie." I then finally reach out my hand to shake it. I notice he doesn’t offer up his first name back.
    "Anyhow, Abbie, your blood pressure is quite high. We’ll be testing your blood sugars. If you’re not careful you’re looking at a case of Type II diabetes, or even a heart attack. I’m glad you’re here to, uh, make yourself less zaftig . This is a good plan of action. You’re still so young, and you have such a pretty face."
    Such a pretty face. Such a pretty face . If I weren’t a lady and if I weren’t in a state of disrobement and feeling vulnerable I think I’d like to wind up and punch this guy in the nose. I hate that phrase. Such a pretty face. Pretty face, my ass. As if how one looks is more important than what one is like. Who gives a care about faces or not? Why can’t I be special, looks be damned?
    I smile a grimace of a smile. "I’m not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and pick the former."
    Doctor Crenshaw only looks confused and continues his stream of thought. "Have you given any thoughts to a plan of action? I’m happy to sit down with you and discuss suggestions for how to get this going. Perhaps you’d like to see a nutritionist. Do you watch your intake of calories? Do you exercise? Are you mindful of your cholesterol?"
    I am being machine gun-pelted with questions for which I have no answer, so I shake my head no to each one as he looks quasi-dismayed at me for my lack of restraint and self-maintenance or excess of gluttony, take your pick.
    "The bottom line, Abbie, is this mathematical equation: calories in, calories out. You eat ’em, you