“Len, why did you have two packets of crisps?” my sister marched into the room. I could hear the kettle boiling gently in the kitchen when she opened the door.
“What? How did you know?” that was me, shocked. How did she know?
“You didn’t even say sorry!” she turned and walked out, determined and cross.
“Why should I say sorry. I’m not sorry.” I was still bemused about how she knew I’d eaten two.
“You should, you’re fat.” she called from the kitchen, the clink of a teaspoon hitting the ceramic of a mug a rattling tune to accompany her voice.
“That’s not true!” I cried, indignant. Secretly, though, I could feel the extra pooch around my middle settle comfortably, and place its hands on its tummy. It wasn’t going to budge for a very long time, and only after much sweating, effort, and wheedling. The backs of my arms jiggled a little as I quickly typed the conclusion to my essay. Gulp. I am fat. I ate two.
In less than two minutes.
I got up to put the heater on.
“Well it is,” my sister, ever the obstinate, stubborn creature, took her tea up the stairs. Her long, cricket legs bending sharply beneath her.
She glanced back at me, an evil glint in her eye.
Do you ever feel guilty after involuntarily shoving down two packets of crisps? Don’t you think some junk is sometimes warranted, especially under duress?
Or are you like my slender, tall sister, who, no matter how many she eats, always maintains her sculpted, streamlined body?
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