Thin Girls Don't Eat Cake

Thin Girls Don’t Eat Cake

Lindy Dale

Copyright © 2014

Secret Creek Press

“Are you serious?”

“’Fraid so.”

Looking across the counter at Connor, I swallowed my shock, trying to take control of the hurt raging inside.

“You’re breaking up with me?”

“Sorry...”

I stared into Connor’s round dark eyes, framed by thin wire glasses and filled with a look that had nothing to do with being sorry. There wasn’t a hint of guilt or sorrow, rather a type of grimace that indicated he couldn’t understand why he’d gone out with me in the first place. My mind began to whirl. The blood began to boil in my veins as I tried to make sense of the bombshell he’d just dropped.

How could this have happened? I hadn’t mentioned the ‘L’ word. I hadn’t been needy or clingy. I’d followed every guideline in that Cosmopolitan dating article. Everything had been going so well.

Or it was on my end, anyway.

Connor’s and mine had been a whirlwind romance beginning the moment our eyes met over the organic bananas at the supermarket. We’d gone on six dates in the past three weeks. Connor was the perfect gentleman, in fact, so much of a gentleman I was beginning to get a little concerned he hadn’t put the hard word on me. Connor told me he loved my hair. He liked the fact I had my own business. He complimented me on my sense of humour and whispered some rather dirty sweet nothings in my ear. We’d even had a romantic picnic under the willow tree at Apex Park with a bottle of Moet.

I repeat, Moet.

Nobody in Merrifield drank Moet unless they were at a wedding, and even then, the instances of such extravagance were few and far between.

I tilted my head, feeling my brow crinkle in confusion. Okay, not confusion. I was crinkling it purposely so I wouldn’t begin to cry because I certainly wasn’t giving Connor that satisfaction.

“Does this have anything to do with last night?” I asked.

“No, no. I don’t think it’s going to work between us, that’s all.”

The shuffling of Connor’s feet and the uncomfortable shifting of his body — like he’d suddenly become infested with worms or the victim of a disastrous rash — told another story. What did he take me for?

Last night was the first time Connor and I had done the deed. Being so convinced that he was the one, I hadn’t wanted to have sex until the moment was right and him cooking dinner for me at his place seemed like the appropriate time. I’d even bought a matching set of lingerie in preparation. Yes, the knickers were a tad on the snug side when I’d put them on and my boobs were sort of exploding from the bra but Connor loves red. And boobs. Or so he said.

Yet, despite the fact I hadn’t eaten all day to ensure my stomach remained as flat as possible and had plucked and shaved my body until it practically begged me to desist, I sensed a certain hesitance on Connor’s part after he’d stripped me of my clothes. It was as if his whole demeanour changed when he discovered I wasn’t the kind of girl who looked hot in see-through undies.

“Did I suck or something?”

“Of course not.”

I gave myself a silent pat on the back. I knew I hadn’t. I had certain skills that had been described as ‘bloody marvellous’ and ‘fucking awesome’ in the past. Unfortunately, they didn’t appear to be enough of a lure for Connor.

“Then, why?”

Connor let out a great big sigh. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting the break up to be so difficult. He placed his hands squarely on the counter and looked into my eyes. A muscle twitched at the edge of his jaw. “Look. I just don’t find you that attractive with your clothes off, if you want to know.”

My eyes opened so wide they began to smart. They really hurt. “Pardon?”

“You have cellulite, Livvy. Your bum looks like an unpeeled orange. You don’t look good naked. In fact, you’re way fatter than you led me to believe.”

I didn’t know whether to be mad or upset or both. How was it possible to be fatter than one looked in real life? So, I wore slimming jeans and a push-up bra. Heaps of girls did. They didn’t change the shape of you that much. It was marketing hype to get you to buy stuff.

The hideous truth of the previous night began to sink in. “Is that why we had to have the light off?”

“Partly.”

“What’s the rest?” I figured I might as well get the full story while he was in a truth-telling mood.

“I thought you were a natural blonde. When the bush doesn’t match the garden, well, it’s a real turn off.”

I could feel my mouth opening and closing involuntarily. The cheek. Nobody was a natural blonde at our age. “So, let me get this straight, you don’t want to go out with me anymore because you feel you’ve been… uh… misled?”

“Something like that. Look, I’m sorry.”

“For what? Calling me fat or for the fact that you’re a complete arsehole? Tell me, was that wining and dining merely to get me in the sack?”

“Of course not.”

Which totally meant it was.

“How many other girls have you picked up in the banana aisle?”

Connor looked sheepish. “Only a couple. But listen, you’re a nice girl. I like you — as a person — and I’d be willing to go out with you again after you drop ten or so kilos.”

Oh. My. God.

“Get out, Connor. Get out now.” Moving from behind the counter, I shoved Connor towards the door and down the two steps that lead to the footpath. I was so tempted to kick his bum on the way out my foot began to rise of its own accord. “Oh, and Connor?”

He turned.

“I might be able to lose a few kilos but you’re never going to hide that bald spot by combing hair over it. It’s way bigger than it was a week ago.”

Slamming the door after him, I leant my forehead against the glass, stopping to take a few deep, calming breaths. My entire body was trembling. My lungs felt as if the air had been sucked from them. A vein had begun to pound on the side of my head. Then, from somewhere inside, a twisted sort of chuckle formed and I started to laugh-cry all in one go. I might have been dumped but at least I’d given him something to think about. Not that I felt any better for it. The sense of gratification was instantly gone.

Rummaging in my pocket for my keys, I flipped the shop sign to ‘Back in 5 minutes’, checked that Connor wasn’t watching from behind a car or something — because I wouldn’t have put it past him to be happy to see me suffer — and bolted down the street to the Maggie’s Bakery.

Yes, I was well aware that it was two o’clock in the afternoon and the lunch trade had probably cleaned out the shelves, but if Maggie didn’t have any peppermint slices left there was going to be hell to pay.

My foot tapped impatiently as I watched Maggie slide the glass door of the cake cabinet along. Dark chocolaty stripes of icing beckoned me as she lifted the slice from the tray. The sweet scent of peppermint filled my nostrils as she tonged it into a white paper bag. I was salivating in anticipation.

Okay, not outwardly salivating because that would have made me look like a dog or a deranged person in need of medication, but on the inside I was definitely drooling. I needed a fix. Badly. I wished she’d hurry.

I’d bought three slices to add to the ruse that I was buying for other shop owners along the street, but I could tell from the look on Maggie’s face she wasn’t having any of it. You wouldn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out I was going straight back to Doggie Divas to eat the lot myself.

“You okay, love?” Maggie folded the top of the bag and gave it a neat crease. Her eyes fell to my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides.

“Yeah, Maggie, I’m fine.”

“Man trouble again?” 

The peppermint slice was a dead give away. On happy days, I preferred one of Maggie’s monster slabs of mud cake or a creamy chocolate éclair, thick with icing. My favourite though, was the giant cupcakes Maggie made with faces in the icing crafted from lollies. They were like a double sugar hit.

“Connor broke up with me. He didn’t like the fact I wasn’t a natural blonde. Oh, and he thought he was getting a Lindt chocolate but ended up with a lumpy Picnic bar when he took off the wrapping. Not to worry though, he said he’d take me back if I dropped a few kilos.”

“He said you were fat? He’s not exactly George Clooney.”

I knew Maggie was trying to make me feel better but it wasn’t working. “I know.”

“Little bugger. You’re well shot of him, love. He always was a terrible flirt, even when he was seven. Last week, I caught him chatting up Shannon over the organic bananas in I.G.A. Terrible things he was saying to make her blush, poor child.”

“You mean Shannon-down-from-Perth, Shannon?”

It was funny how everyone called her that. Shannon had lived in Merrifield for over three years now. Been here as long as I’d been back from the city.

“The very same. I thought she was going to have a seizure when he asked if she’d squeeze his banana to see if it was too firm.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. Connor had used that exact line on me. Which wasn’t that bad if you ignored the fact that Shannon-down-from-Perth looked like Ten Tonne Tessie. Not that I meant to think such rude thoughts —Shannon was a lovely girl — but she looked so much like an over-ripe mango, I dreamt of smoothies every time we crossed paths.

So what the hell was Connor’s deal? Did he chat up every woman he met in the fresh produce aisle? Had there been nothing special about me at all?

“I don’t think he’s ever had a girlfriend for more than a week,” Maggie added. “So you may have broken a record.”

I snorted and took a twenty-dollar note from my wallet, thumping it onto the glass top display case. “That’s not the only thing of Connor Bishop’s I’d like to break.”

*****

By the time I got back to Doggie Divas, I’d eaten two of the peppermint slices and the rush of endorphins had been usurped by the angry pang of guilt at my own weakness. I yanked my key from my pocket and turned it in the lock. Then, I kicked the door open with my toe, shut it with my heel and headed straight for the counter where I dumped the nearly empty bag on the counter. I stared at it for a long while, forcing myself not to eat but it didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, all it did was clarify in my mind a fact I’d known for ages but was refusing to admit.

I was a relationship loser. And I was possibly destined to be that way for the rest of my life.

Connor wasn’t the only man to dump me in recent history, you see. In fact, I’d been the victim of quite a few ugly dumping episodes over the last two years. It began with Jacob — I’d found him in bed with a girl who looked like me but had far perkier breasts (obviously fake). Then there was Nigel. He seemed so right until he asked if I minded whether he wore some of my underwear under his work clothes. I drew the line at that. The worst was Michael. I’d had a bit of a crush on him at University and jumped at the chance to offer him a place to stay after his return from an extended overseas trip. I didn’t mind at all. He bought me flowers and wondered how it was that we’d never found each other sooner. He cooked and cleaned. Plus, he looked absolutely adorable in an apron. Unfortunately, I came home from work to find dinner was not the only thing he’d been cooking. My house was in the process of being raided by a team of black-clad special operations police. Turned out Michael’s overseas trip had, in fact, been a stint in jail for possession of a trafficable quantity and he was on the run from the Mafia or a bikie gang or something.

Since then, I’d understandably become a little gun-shy. It was easier to have no man than to risk involving myself with another player.

Until Connor, that was. I’d thought he was different. How wrong could a girl be?

Undoing the bag, I picked at a corner of the last slice and popped it in my mouth. The sweet taste overtook my tongue and I felt the stress begin to melt away. With the chocolate base and icing sending happy hormones rushing to my brain, I blinked away a stubborn tear.

Why was I rendered instantly stupid when a man flirted with me?  How come the only men I seemed to attract were either utter weirdos, players or so totally up themselves they couldn’t see daylight. Did they see me as some sort of easy target? Surely, that couldn’t be the case?

I pulled the slice from the bag and took a bigger bite. Bugger Connor. This binge was his fault. I’d been having such a lovely week and now I was reduced to downing slices in order to overcome my problems. Again.

As I swallowed, the door of the shop opened and Mum bounced in. Her hair newly-coiffed, she bounded up to the counter to give me a kiss. My mother was a rather energetic person. I couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever walked.

“Hello, possum.” As observant as ever, Mum’s eyes dropped to the paper bag on the counter. “Man trouble?”

It was annoying that my mother knew me so well.

“Something like that.”

“Dear, dear. Not that lovely boy you were seeing?”

“He turned out to be not so lovely.”

A look of sympathy spread over Mum’s face. “And how many pieces have you had?”

“One.”

Eyebrows rose in disbelief.

“All right, two and a bit. But in my defence, I needed the sugar. I’m very tired. I was up most of the night.”

And if I’d known what the result of that would be, I’d never have wasted the sleep time.

Mum reached into her gym bag and pulled out a hanky. Spitting onto the corner, she proceeded to wipe a few stray crumbs from the side of my chin, clucking like a mother hen.

I swiped her hand away. “Mum, please.”

My day had been pretty ordinary so far, without her trying to improve the way I looked with a soggy hanky.

“You’ll never get a man looking like a washerwoman, you know.”

“And I won’t get one with my mother treating me like a two year old, either. Can you leave it, please?”

“I was only trying to help.”

“Thank you, but it’s not the sort of help I need.”

“There’s no need to get snippy. People will think you’re having your period. Or taking drugs.”

I groaned. On most occasions, it was pointless attempting to have a sensible conversation with my mother. She had the ability to go off on a tangent that even a person on LSD wouldn’t be able to follow.

“So what’re you up to today?” I asked, not that I needed to. Mum’s outfit of purple Lycra leggings, a fluorescent pink ballet wrap and an Olivia Newton John — circa 1981 — headband spoke volumes. Teamed with her new 80’s retro haircut, she looked like an extra in a Flashdance remake.

“I’ve just finished the Advanced Tums & Bums class. That Alice certainly knows how to make me sweat. I thought my bottom was going to drop off.” She turned, giving her bottom, which was indeed looking quite pert for a woman her age, a wiggle. “You could do with a little Tums & Bums. Sitting around is making you frumpy.”

“Gee, thanks, Mum. I’ll keep that in mind. Is there anything else or did you only come in to tell me that?”

“No. Nothing else. Have you seen that new shop going in over the road?”

I had indeed. I’d spent many an hour, when I should have been getting my tax in order, imagining what was behind the rough hessian covering and scaffolding that hid the façade.

“Whatever it is, they’re putting an awful lot of work into it. Maybe it’s a boutique,” I said.

“Speaking of clothes, I bought these for you from the home shopping channel. With all that talk of exercise, I completely forgot.” Mum bent and pulled a shiny red carrier from her gym bag, handing it to me. “They were having a clearance.”

My hand delved into the bag. I felt a pile of soft fabric. I peered inside, afraid of what I was going to find because... Well, let’s just say Mum’s taste in clothes and mine don’t exactly see eye to eye. “Are these Spanx, Mum?”

Having never seen a pair in real life, I could only surmise.

“Yes. Every girl of a certain age needs a little help in the support department. They’re wonderful for smoothing lumps and bumps.”

“Do you wear them?”

“No. I pay eight hundred dollars a year to have my body toned at the gym. I don’t need to wear them. But I’ve heard they’re very good.”

“So why do I need to wear them?” I took the underwear from the bag, eyeing it in dismay. “Do you think I’m fat?”

“I’m not saying that. I’m merely saying the Spanx could help enhance the look of what God gave you. Tonnes of celebs wear them. You’re going to need every scrap of help you can get if you want to nab a husband now that you’ve exhausted the supply of under forties in town.”

My mother was nothing if not honest. Sometimes to the detriment of others’ feelings.

“There’s no need to remind me.”

Shoving the underwear back into the bag, I hid it behind the counter. The way I felt was beyond description. I was twenty-seven years old. A push-up bra and some tummy toning jeans were one thing but I wasn’t about to start wearing some suck-me-in-pull-me-up business to impress a man. It wouldn’t work anyway. Connor was living proof of that.

Mum gathered the rest of her things. “So, what happened? You know, with the young man?”

“He said my bum look like orange peel. Apparently, he doesn’t like girls who look normal.”

“Oh well, those undies will come in handy sooner than you think then.” With a kiss and a wave, she opened the door to leave. “Toodle-oo. See you later in the week.”

“Aren’t we having dinner tonight?”

“Um, ah...no. I’ve uh, double booked myself. I must learn how to use that calendar thingy on my smartphone.”

“Where are you going?”

“Go-Karting. So exhilarating.”

Exhilarating and driving little cars around a track were not concepts I’d use in the same sentence but Mum seemed to be into anything and everything lately. Last week it had been naked hang gliding from Mount Seymour, the big hill that overlooked Merrifield. “Well, have fun.”

“I fully intend to. I bought this great new racing suit to wear. It’s pink with a lavender stripe. I’m thinking it might be good for the charity calendar shoot at the end of the year. It could be quite a sexy look if I was leaning over the bonnet of a car, don’t you think?”

Oh Lord.

Glumly, I watched my mother leave. I kicked the bag of Spanx further under the counter. I felt like crying again. She hadn’t said it in so many words but it was fairly clear that even she thought I was fat. Fat and single.

My life sucked.

*****

My fit of depression growing, I finished off the last of the peppermint slice before heading into the grooming room to tidy up for the day. Usually, I liked to sweep up between clients and give the hydro bath a bit of a whizz over with disinfectant, but the morning had been such a disaster I’d let it slide in favour of feeling sorry for myself.

As I tidied and swept, I considered how my life was shaping up. Not well, by all accounts. Buying Doggie Divas three years earlier was the one bright spot. It had been a godsend at a time when I’d found myself directionless.

I’d graduated from university with a Masters Degree in Journalism five years previously and thrown myself into my job as weather girl at Channel Seven News, buying TV appropriate outfits and getting highlights that cost more than the rent on my tiny flat. I was skinny back then. Having finally sprouted into my body after years of teenage gawkiness, I could wear whatever I wanted. I didn’t have to think about exercising or eating rabbit food, I was confident I looked good — but not overconfident, you’ve only got to share the makeup room with some stunning model to have that knocked out of you pretty quickly. Still, it was such a stark contrast after being teased every day at school because I wore glasses and had the body shape of a gangly giraffe.

The first twelve months of working life sped past in a blur. I was happy, challenged and fulfilled. The producers noticed me and were talking about promoting me to ‘feel good’ segments on The Breakfast Show, starting after Christmas. I’d also scored a lovely boyfriend in journalist and news anchor Richard Abbott. We’d been set to buy matching Boxer puppies and a townhouse in Mount Lawley when my world came crashing down.