So the other morning, having nothing to wear, I squeezed into a pair of jeans that loosely embraced my thighs not one year ago. Now they fit a little like an islander clinging to a tree during a tsunami. This was, of course, why they were clean and had been so for, er, months. Anyway. As I was going to spend the morning at the Wits computer lab, where it is required to wear your jeans either two sizes too small or two sizes too big, I did not worry too much about it. There was no sniggering or pointing, and if I did not move around too much, they were not all that uncomfortable. This is not so bad, I thought. I could wear these more often.
When I got home, however, Mary stopped ironing and greeted me with, “you are too fat. It is time for you to lose some weight.” I had only dropped my bags and taken off my jacket, but I felt quite naked. I wondered if Mary remembered that November is very close to end-of-year bonus time.
I immediately phoned Ruth. “Mary says I am too fat.”
Ruth was a little surprised by this. She thought for a while, trying to remember if Mary had said something similar to her in the past. No. She thought not. I thought that was so unfair.
Later, having been unable to let the whole thing go or to stop eating rice cakes with that great Woollies basil pesto, I concluded that the long and the short of it is this: if Mary says a thing is so, then it must be true.