Devonne Brown

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Alice Krudworthy gave up on lying a long time ago. She quit making up shit, but would often omit certain details to bend the thinking of whomever she was talking to. “What did you have for dinner?” Someone would ask innocuously. 

“Salad, with apples, chickpeas, avocados, tomatoes, and crab. I made a dressing with olive oil and rice vinegar,” she replied. She didn’t mention the baked potato loaded with sour cream, bacon, and basil that accompanied it. She may be considered indulgent if she did. Heaven forbid. 

Alice’s food choices were not unhealthy, but they were not doing her any favors, and that consumed her. She loved to eat and prepare food. She wanted steak and potatoes, cabbage fit for kings, oreos and cheesecake, platters of sushi. It didn’t make sense that these things contributed to her fat batwing arms she saw in her mirrors. 

The truth was, she was lying to herself and knew it. Where did her metabolism go? She felt mistreated and disappointed, let down by her own body and especially her spirit. How in the world had this happened? She looked in the mirror and saw a bowling ball of her former self and was disgusted. The willpower of her youth had left her. Alice despaired.

One day, Alice got a phone call from a former lover who wanted to see her again. They agreed to meet in a month’s time. Alice promised herself she’d be beautiful again, she’d shed some of the fat that cursed her arms, belly, and legs. 

A month to cure years of indulgence would require starvation, a rowing machine, and good knees. A miracle would work. She lacked discipline, a rowing machine, and good knees. Alice was wary of miracles and, she had thick toenails. She was terrified. Alice Krudworthy was doomed to reality.