For about the fourth time today I was cornered by Veronica. Literally cornered. She weighed maybe four hundred pounds, and the flab stuck to the walls as she yacked at me like the old joke about your mom’s underwear. If someone had checked her from behind, not only would it have killed me, but it would have taken industrial equipment to pry her out of that corner. Spit dribbled down her chin as she slobbered making a huge wet mark on the front of her shirt. "And Rich in accounting! Can you believe that guy? Get this—he actually, I mean, he actually thought that I would sign a card for Gina! After what she did!"

I think what Gina did was buy her some low-fat popcorn for the office Christmas grab-bag. Jesus, you would think that Gina had killed her family or seduced her dog or something. Not that Veronica was sensitive about her weight. Sensitive wasn’t even the word for it. Fucking insane about her weight, maybe. She was wantonly murderous towards anybody who looked at her wrong, like a Hitler of the flabby proposing a holocaust for the skinny. "Fette, Fette, uber alles." Or something. I head a rumor that she ate her kid once. Probably not true, I can’t imagine it would be physically possible for somebody to get her pregnant, never mind willing. It will involve a lot of flexibility, I would think.

She went on blabbering about Gina for at least ten minutes. "I mean, isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?"

I sputtered for a moment. "Yes, yes, the worst, definitely the worst." I couldn’t focus much longer, the oxygen was running out. Everything was going black, like an old Bugs Bunny cartoon. "Goodbye, Doc. Goodbye." I had to do something. What could I do?

"Veronica?"

"What?"

"I’m dying over here. Could you, uh, not talk to me for a while?"

She stared at me. An idling semi growled three inches from my face. "Why?" it rumbled.

I was on the verge of passing out. I fumbled for an answer.

Suddenly, the truck roared to life. "It’s because I’m fat, isn’t it? You bastard!"

Turns out she did eat that kid.