It had been some days now since I had been diagnosed as a fat bastard.
Ever considerate of others. I had taken it upon myself to self isolate, lest I spread my foul contagion onward.
Over and over again, I found myself wondering...
How could this have happened?
To me, of all people?
It wasn't fair.
The attic, my guitar-themed man cave always seemed like a welcoming place but now?
Now it was a prison to me.
I stared mournfully out of the window at the incessant rain and made a sad noise like a pigeon with one foot.
What would become of me? Would I ever recover?
I heard a thumping noise and snapped my head around to see what it was.
It was the Good Lady, tramping up the stairs.
Hey you. You coming downstairs, you've been up here for ages?
She asked, get eyes roving around the room in the hunt for stray signs of masturbation.
No. I'm not coming. I'm a fat bastard. The woman at the gym weighed me. It was not good.
I mumped as I heaved my giant frame onto a chair.
The Good Lady shook her head affectionately.
Silly Daddy. You look fine. So it can't be that bad. What weight were you anyway?
She laughed good naturedly.
In return I looked at her sullenly through my big fat eyes.
Oh come on. Tell me. I don't care what weight you are. I'll still love you!
She tilted her head to the side in that way that suggested naughty things with hands.
Go on. Tell me?
She smiled.
I told her.
The smile slipped from her face as the awful weight of the numbers I spoke hit home.
Numbers so large that their enormity could barely be grasped by the human mind.
No!?
She gasped, her head shaking in denial.
No??? It can't be
She started backing down the stairs then turned and ran screaming.
Noooooooooooooo...
I sighed. I understood completely. Who would want to be a Princess Leia to my Jabba the Hut?
I went back to staring out the window.
