I was the guest of the CEO.
I guess she knows ‘people’.
I’ve tried to golf. I’m not very good at it.
Its all quite impressive. That’s all I’m allowed to say.
We were sitting outside of the private ‘Wheeling 2000’ cottage at Oakmont.
“So big-sexy, I see you are at another plateau.”
She said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.
“High 220’s. It’s not as long as you think. Less than a week. I just blog about it too much, so it seems longer.”
I drank my sugarless, horrible iced tea.
“You know, I wanted you to meet some people. There are lots of important people, I just don’t know how to introduce you. You scare people. No one knows what you do for a living and you’ve never really explained it.”
She looked off into the distance disgustedly.
“I’m too crazy to meet people. I like people. They don’t like me. It’s like the ‘Frankenstein Effect’. I got less awkward once I realized that people naturally hate me at first sight. They can’t help their visceral, pre-historic threat reaction. It’s OK. Somebody has to be Frankensteinian.”
It was drying off from the torrential downpour. There was a nice breeze.
“Do you think the massive weight loss has helped improve people’s perception of you?”
Asked the CEO as she began to squirm uncomfortably, squinting her eyes.
“No. I thought that rainbows would fly out of unicorns’ assholes and there would be peace and light. Instead, my knees hurt less, my clothes fit, but nothing has changed. I’m just a leaner, faster Ogre. I want to lose the next 29 pounds, weigh under 200, have a 34″ waist, be in the good BMI, be sub 16% body fat, dunk a basketball (right -handed) and run a 24:00 flat 5k.”
“All those things will happen if you get thin?”
She flicked the ashes off of her filtered ‘Gemel’ Al-cigarette-iiyah. A fine Egyptian blend.
“Yes, back when I last weighed 199, I could do all those things with a little effort, but I’ll still be Frankenstein.”
“Whatever. Get me a martini, you fat phuck.”
Peace be the Botendaddy