Do You Think I'm Fat?
Do you think I'm fat? she asked him
in bed,
looking up from her book, tossing the question in the air.
He caught the question by surprise, didn't even put his book
down, and replied,
Well, you're not thin.
Do you think I'm fat?
Well, you're not as thin
as you
used to be.
But do YOU think I'm fat?
Just look at that painting
by Renoir of the beautiful model.
So you do? think I'm fat.
He put his book down and raised his
eyebrows, tilting his
head slightly toward her propped up on a pillow next to him.
She put her book down and turned toward him,
brows down, and
told him a character in a book she was reading asked if her lover thought
she seemed fat--did he think she was fat?
and he
told her he thought she had a beautiful body, that her body was perfect.
And did this character like that answer? he asked, wriggling his brows.
No, she said that's not what she asked, but I liked his
answer,
she said, looking straight ahead. Better than YOUR answer, she added.
He waited.
What you're saying is that I am fatter than I used to be, which
was just right, but that if Renoir were alive, he might fancy me as a
model, but you know very well that thin is in now and a bellied woman
is definitely out.
Well, I find you more than ever--
Y o u like that century. That's the trouble with you.