Bookstore Fatties

I went to a local bookstore today to enjoy a latte and some free reading on an opulent couch near the ‘New Age’ section. As long as Deepak Chopra books didn’t fly off the shelves and attack me, I didn’t think it would do me any harm. That is, not until an unkempt fat lady and her buck-toothed daughter started chattering behind me and trawling the shelves for what they deemed wisdom. ‘I’m looking for something Buddhisty,’ said the ugly child. I felt like standing up, pointing a hard finger at her mother’s large, sloppy torso, and saying, ‘You were raised by something Buddha-like.’ But alas, I said nothing. I’m such a wuss.

Another time in the same bookstore, another obscenely protuberant woman sat on a couch adjacent to mine. She was breathing heavily and reading a large yellow hardcover whose title I couldn’t quite see. I was sitting near the ‘Self Help Books’ section this time. (They don’t put the comfy couches near the readable books section.) At one point, I heard the couch below her moan as she applied herself to the task of standing up. She did so -- with all the facility of a rhinoceros filling out a crossword puzzle -- and wobbled over to the little café. She came back a few minutes later not with coffee, but with a giant plate of mini-scones and cinnamon cakes, and as she indelicately reapplied her great mass to the seat of the couch, I was able to see the title of the book she was reading. It was: Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat? -- I’m not even kidding. Apparently she hadn’t gotten to the chapter where it tells you not to eat giant plates of mini-scones and cinnamon cakes. Maybe they should move that part closer to the beginning. I’ll write to the publisher.