The Year I Went Pear-shaped: A fat woman's tale of love and insanity

by Tamara Pitelen

  Feeling bewildered, angry and dizzy, he sat on the edge of Darla’s bed with his face in his hands and tried to slow down the tornado of thoughts flying around his head.

  ‘No, I’m being stupid and paranoid. Darla will have some simple explanation for this,’ he reasoned, repeating it to himself over and over. Feeling slightly better, he put his hands in his lap and looked up to see a wall of bookshelves full of videotapes. He hadn’t seen them at first because they were covered by loosely pinned sarongs. There were several floor-to-ceiling bookshelves pushed up side-by-side that took up a whole wall of Darla’s bedroom. They were packed solid with videotapes. Standing up to step forward, he saw that every one of the tapes was carefully labelled and, according to the labels, each one contained about six episodes of Love on the Wards. Gordon realised that every single episode of the show from the last ten years must be in this room.

  The doubts and suspicions that he’d managed to push back for a few minutes came flooding back like a torrent.

  ‘No, no, no. Please God, not Darla. It can’t be Darla.’ Suddenly he couldn’t get the hell out of that room fast enough. He ran down the stairs and out through the front door.

  Anita watched with surprise as he hurled himself out of the house and slammed the front door behind him. Shrugging, she figured a little strange behaviour after the weekend he’d had was justified. Anyway, she was more worried about Darla and wished her flatmate would hurry up and come home.

  Chapter 35: Getting Rid of It

  “What do you mean I’m in danger from some psychobitch who killed Gordon’s cat? Slow the hell down Anita, you’re not making any sense.”

  I’d hardly had my key in the front door before Anita had ambushed me in the hallway and started gibbering about a dead cat.

  “Would you bloody well sit down and listen to me then? Christ, you can be infuriatingly superior at times Darla,” she fumed.

  “Ok, ok, sorry Neets, look, I’m walking into the lounge...” I turned to check that she was following me, “...I’m sitting on the nice sofa and I am listening to you 100 per cent...I am also having a cigarette if that’s ok?”

  She nodded. “Yeah and give me one while you’re at it.”

  I held out the packet, she took one and put it between her lips. I flicked the lighter for her before lighting my own.

  We both took a long drag and exhaled at the same time.

  “Now, what’s the problem?”

  “Ok, Gordon came around this evening...

  “Here? Gordon came here?”

  “Yes! He came here, now shut up and listen, that is not the important thing here!”

  “Sorry, carry on.” She looked like she was about to hit me.

  “He was upset, really upset. Someone cut his cat’s head off with a knife over the weekend. He’s positive it’s some crazy bitch who’s been writing him love letters for ages...”

  “What? Someone cut his cat’s head of? Jesus H Christ! That is totally sick! Poor Gordon.”

  “I know, it’s unspeakably sick but, listen, like I said he thinks it’s some crazed fan...”

  “Yeah,” I interrupted again, “he was telling us about her the other night round at Sonya Rider’s. She thinks they’re soul mates or something.”

  “Yeah, well apparently this psychopath has turned up the heat. Now she’s ringing him at home and murdering his pets in the hope that this will make him suddenly realise that she’s the one for him. Talk about your fucking looney women!”

  Bloody hell. Poor Gordon. Anita now had my full attention.

  “Ok, that’s bloody awful, yes, but what’s it got to do with me?”

  Anita, calmer now that she could see she’d gotten through to me, took another drag before answering.

  “Well, this chick has kind of threatened you. She’s seen all those pap photos of the two of you in the social pages and thinks you’re an item.”

  “Really? Excellent!” I said, getting a small rush of pleasure that anyone, even a psychotic feline killer, would think Gordon and I were together. Anita threw me one of her testicle-squeezing, ‘are you out of your tiny mind?’ looks, that even worked on women.

  I cleared my throat. “Sorry. Sorry Neets. Carry on.”

  “Jeezus! Isn’t that enough? A psychopath has threatened you with bodily harm Darla! You need to take this seriously. Apparently the cops might be around to have a word with you and Gordon has left every single one of his contact numbers in a note on your bed. He wants you to call him.”

  Suddenly the warning bells in my head were sounding loudly.

  Gulping, I closed my eyes and pressed the space between my eyebrows.

  “Um. Nita.” I said, my voice up two octaves. “Um, did Gordon go into my bedroom?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  Oh God.

  “Ah, did he say anything to you afterwards? I mean, did he...did he see the bloody shrine?” I finished with a shriek.

  “The shrine? I thought you’d taken that stupid thing down?”

  Ohhhh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  “I meant to, I just hadn’t got round to it.”

  A light went on behind Anita’s eyes. “Ah.” She said flatly.

  “What ‘ah’? What do you mean, ‘ah’?” I demanded with an edge of hysteria.

  “He did leave very suddenly in an awfully big hurry. He almost flew out of your bedroom and down the stairs, then threw himself out of the front door, slamming it so hard behind him that the house shook. He didn’t even wave at me. I thought it was odd but figured he’d just had a bad couple of days.”

  Nausea clutched at my intestines as my stomach did sickening flips. He’d seen the shrine. He’d seen the bloody stupid childish shrine. How the hell was I ever going to explain that? That is if he ever let me speak to him again.

  Throwing myself forward into the position they told you to get into on aeroplanes when you said you were feeling ill, I spoke to Anita through my knees.

  “Nita, what am I gonna dooooo? He’s gonna think I’m as mad as that psycho who killed his cat!

  She tapped the ash off her cigarette into the ashtray.

  “Yeah, well, it wouldn’t have looked good, that’s for real. Especially when some other chick who’s also obsessed with him is trying to ruin his life.”

  I shot up straight in my seat.

  “Don’t lump me in with that psychopath! I am not obsessed with him, I genuinely like him based on having spent a lot of time with him!”

  “Now you do but what about before you got to know him properly? Not so long ago you were straight out obsessed Darla. You might not have been quite as tragic as this sicko but you were in the same ballpark. And, like her, it had nothing to do with the real Gordon, you were just making your idea of him fill something inside of you that was empty.”

  Anita could be harsh. For a minute I hated her but she was right. I fell forward again into aeroplane position.

  “All right, all right,” I mumbled into my knees. “I was a pathetic starfucker, so sue me. But now what Neets, how do I fix it?”

  But she wasn’t going to let me have it easy.

  “What do you think you should do to fix it Darl?”

  I groaned and sat up again to face her. She stared right back at me without flinching.

  “Jeeze, you’re playing hardball aren’t you? Ok, Dr Freud, I’ll play your game. I’ll tell you something, you’re totally right. I was obsessed with Gordon for my own stupid reasons and insecurities. But I’m past that, seriously...well, ok, I’m getting past that. And how am I going to fix things? Well, the first thing I’m going to do is go upstairs and pull down that stupid shrine then I’m going to burn it in the backyard. Next, I’m going to put every single one of those videotapes in a big black rubbish bag, maybe three rubbish bags, and I’m going to donate them to St Vinnies. I’m not going to bed tonight till all that is done.”

  Anita smiled. “That’s my girl! Hell, maybe you really are coming back to join the rest of us on Planet Normal.”


  I lit another cigarette.

  “Ha!” I said, deciding I’d eaten enough humble pie for one night. “That’s rich coming from the woman who right now has a book by her bed titled, ‘Feng Shui Your Way to Love’ and a CD in her stereo that promises wealth will flow into her life if she just listens to its ‘positive affirmations on prosperity’ once a day. You’re as flakey as me Nita.”

  She grinned. “Mock all you want non-believer but I’ll have you know that just a couple of days after I’d Feng Shuied my bedroom for love, I met Terry, the man I intend to marry and bear a flock of children with.”

  “Terry? Oh, you mean Adonis. God Neets, are you in love all of a sudden? I’d presumed last night’s date was a dud since you came home alone?”

  A soppy smile hijacked her face.

  “No,” she said dreamily, “it was fantastic. I am so into him Darl, I can’t tell you. We deliberately didn’t have sex last night because we wanted to start over, get to know each other over a few weeks then jump into bed and shag like rabbits.”

  This was a most unusual situation.

  “You’re kidding me? No sex till you know each other better? May I remind you Honey that you’ve already seen that man stark-bollock naked from every imaginable angle? And a few unimaginable ones?”

  “I know! I told you, we’re starting afresh.”

  “Wow. Well I’m really happy for you, I hope he turns out to be someone special, you’ll have to have him round one night so I can meet him properly...”

  She put her soppy face back on and gave me a lopsided smile.

  “...but anyway!” I continued, getting purposefully to my feet, “enough chat for now, I’ve got a date with a shrine that’s way past it’s use by date. I’ll worry about how to explain things to Gordon later. Hey,” I said, changing the subject, “are you around for dinner tomorrow? I’m thinking of making lentil lasagne.”

  “Ah, no, I’ve got the rest of the week off work, remember? I’m going to stay with Gran in Ashfield, she’s having her op tomorrow so I’ll be outta here first thing in the morning and back in a week or so.”

  “Oh yeah, god, sorry Nita. It slipped my mind. Good luck eh, I hope your Gran’s ok.”

  I went over to hug her.

  “Thanks Chick,” she said, when we pulled apart. “And good luck with Gordy.”

  I nodded ruefully and headed up the stairs. We’d both forgotten for a moment about the threats from the crazy woman.

  Chapter 36: Trading

  Letting the huge, sweaty, young man into her office, the woman took a quick look outside to check once again that everyone else had gone home then she closed and locked the door behind him. She put a smile on her face and turned to face him.

  “Hi Harry, you ok?”

  “Yup, good thanks Andy,” the young man wheezed nervously. His thick, pink neck was sweating and his forehead was slick with moisture.

  “I’ve, ah, I’ve got the money,” he said quickly shoving his fat fist into his pocket and pulling out five $20 notes.”

  “Harry, you put that money away. You don’t need to pay me for this one,” she paused for effect, “or the next one...or the one after that.”

  The young man’s eyes widened in disbelief and hope. A small, hard lump grew beneath his trousers.

  He swallowed. “Really Andy?”

  Smiling assuringly at the big, dumb man-child, she lowered her voice and stepped towards him, running her finger down the length of his enormous arm.

  “Mmm hmm, really Harry.”

  She licked her lips without taking her eyes off his.

  “Of course there might be something I need your help with but we can talk about that later. Now sit down,” she said, pushing him into the chair in front of her desk, “and I’ll take care of things from here.”

  Nodding, the man sat down, sunk into the chair and closed his eyes. The woman reached down to pop open the button at the top of his trousers that was strained to bursting with the effort of holding back the man’s huge gut. With the button undone, an angry red welt encircled the man’s stomach where the trouser band had been.

  Undoing his zip, she then pulled the cheap, green underwear down over the short but thick and hard penis that bounced up to point straight at her mouth.

  The woman got on her knees and positioned herself between his thighs then she bent down to lick the angry red helmet of his hard-on with the tip of her tongue. The young man groaned.

  She took it all in her mouth and started sucking gently, swirling her tongue up, down and around as her lips moved up and down the thick shaft, slowly getting faster and firmer.

  He moaned.

  She glanced at her watch. Another minute or two should do it.

  Chapter 37: Up the Revolution

  ‘All is forgiven, my love,’ Gordon whispered into the whorl of my ear, his breath hot on my skin. Gently he took the lobe between his lips and lightly sucked before moving down to kiss my neck. I could feel his yearning.

  ‘My darling, I never thought it odd that you had photos of me in your room because I’ve turned an entire room of my mansion into a shrine to your beauty,’ he said throatily, licking his way down my neck to the top of my breasts, which were two large and firm globes of pleasure that threatened to burst out over the top of the low cut lacy, cream corset that reined them in. Catching sight of myself in a mirror on the far wall, I looked magnificent in Victorian petticoats that were pushed up my legs to reveal stocking tops. My hair was a long mass of golden ringlets that tumbled to my waist and I appeared to have lost about 20 kilos. Gordon was wearing a large, curled white wig and a scarlet, high-collared waist jacket. On the finger he was using to trace the swell of my fabulous breasts, he wore an ornate gold ring set with a large ruby. His nails were polished and manicured. Just as he was pressing his throbbing manhood into my unbelievably small waist, the sound of a car engine turning over and over, pushing its way into my consciousness. From somewhere nearby, a female voice said, ‘come on you motherfucker! Don’t do this to me, pleeease!’ The engine turned over a couple more times but then finally decided to spark into life. The old Mercedes roared as Anita revved it up before taking off for Ashfield.

  Cursing as Gordon vanished, I picked up the Mills & Boon from where it lay open on the pillow next to me and turned down the corner of the page I’d fallen asleep at. Then I chucked it under my bed because my bedside table was already heaving with precariously positioned, half finished novels.

  But looking around my room, I felt good. There was nothing left of the shrine except a few sodden ashes in a tin bucket on the back lawn and all the bookshelves that had housed Love on the Wards tapes for so long now stood empty. I made a mental note to get all the books that were sitting under my bed, or boxed up in the attic gathering dust, and fill up the empty shelves again.

  I’d even started putting away the clothes and shoes that had been lying over every surface for months and, though not exactly clean, my room was looking a helluva lot better. ‘Hell, you could almost believe an adult slept here,’ I thought.

  Throwing the doona back and getting out of bed, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I was wearing a t-shirt and knickers. My hair was a mess, my eyes were puffy and a few new pimples around my jaw line signalled that my period was a few days away. I studied my body. My breasts were slung lower than they used to be and regrowth from my bikini line was sprouting out the side of my underwear. Jumping up and down and lifting my t-shirt right up, I watched the fat on my thighs and stomach jiggle like a plate of jelly, while my breasts went round and round in opposite circles. The sight of it made me laugh.

  ‘You bloody idiot,’ I mumbled to myself pulling the t-shirt back down again. Walking into the bathroom, I pulled my knickers down to my knees and sat on the toilet to urinate. From the opposite corner the bathroom scales glinted at me.

  ‘Come oooon!’ they hissed. ‘Get oooon Darla. You need to find out what you’re worth today. Get ooonnnn, we’ll tell you how to feel about yourself.’<
br />
  Dragging them out into the middle of the bathroom floor, I gave them the usual prod with my foot to see whether the black line was reading under or over.

  Taking a deep breath, I prodded them again.

  But what if I didn’t get on? What would happen?

  ‘You’d be lost!’ they said. ‘You’d get hideously fat. If you don’t keep a close eye on your weight you’ll swell up like a balloon. You’ll get fatter and fatter and fatter. You’d be out of control! Then no-one would ever love you.’

  Really? Would that really happen? But what if I didn’t get fatter? What if I just stayed the same as I am right now but stopped caring about the numbers? Would it really be the end of the world, as I know it? Would I really disappear into a ball of lard?

  It was worth a try. After all what was the alternative? Another 35 years of nervously facing the scales every single morning? Letting a minuscule shift in that black line decide how I felt about myself and whether I deserved to be happy?

  No, the madness had to stop. They had to go. I picked up the scales and took them downstairs and out the back door. I placed them down again on the red bricks of our tiny courtyard area and went to the shed to find a hammer.

  With the hammer in both hands, I stood in front of the scales with my legs apart, raising the hammer right up over my head, I brought it down as hard as I could on the little glass window, so hard that I grunted with the effort. It cracked. I lifted the hammer again, smashing it down with all my might. I did that over and over again until sweat was dripping down my arms, my face was red and my breathing ragged. I dented and bashed them. Then I threw the hammer down and picked the scales up, lifting them over my head. I hurled them to the ground. I did it again and again. Bits flew off as they started coming apart. Finally, I was finished. The scales were dead.

  Picking up the larger pieces, I threw them into the rubbish bin. Then I swept up the smaller debris which followed suit.