FAT CHANCE at the OK CORRAL (AKA The Classic Buffet)

Ginny wondered for a moment if she was having a stroke. Her ears began ringing, and she felt slightly dizzy. Worse still was that the array of desserts in front of her began to shimmer and waver. She almost expected them to disappear and so, tightly clutched the bowl of soft ice cream.

She was willing to sacrifice the mint Nanaimo squares, peanut butter confetti bars and strawberry shortcake, but the ice cream was simply too important to let go.

She clung tightly to the bowl and briefly thought about leaving the restaurant and driving to the nearest hospital's emergency, when it dawned on her what actually might be going on.

She was experiencing a sugar high. 

It had all begun innocently enough.

The morning began early with a visit from her son. He had promised to set up her Smart tv after finishing his night shift. 

She’d harboured hopes that his thirty-seven year old brain would somehow, miraculously sort out the massive tangle of confusion that rendered her own brain completely useless. 

What irked her most was that she knew the t.v. was intelligent enough to probably set itself up, but was simply being stubborn and mean spirited in its refusal to cooperate.

Her son seemed a little tired and impatient, but Ginny was confident he could bring the uncooperative device to its knees and convince it to comply with his directions.

The ‘smart’ t.v. had a different agenda and seemed in no mood to surrender.

Ginny finally convinced her son to leave it alone and go home to sleep.

He seemed relieved and she almost convinced herself that she really didn't want to watch Netflix that much anyway.

In truth that was just what she'd wanted to do but decided a little prayer and meditation would be a suitable replacement. It worked and she promptly fell asleep for another two hours.

She woke with a start, realizing she had just enough time to get to her appointment with her therapist. This monthly ritual, combined with her twelve step programs, seemed to keep her on the straight and narrow. 

Somewhat.

The session went well, though by hour’s end Ginny’s ears were ringing and sound had become distinctly muffled. This was a sure sign that anxiety was plucking the chords of disharmony somewhere deep inside her body.

She left the office just before lunch and debated the choices in front of her: food, out or home?

Visit a friend nearby? Hmmmm, no.

Go to a twelve step meeting several blocks away? Well yes, that seemed like a good choice.

Gin headed off to the meeting with high hopes of an hour long session of prayer and meditation while listening to other people who shared her affliction of addiction.

She should’ve left upon arrival. 

Waves of energy flooded her senses as soon as she entered the room. 

She picked the side of the room where all the women were sitting, making a major mistake by taking a chair with an empty spot beside it. Of course, John, a freshly sober sixty plus years’ drunk came and sat beside her.

She’d met him several nights before and had known that his confused energy and deep angst were danger signs. 

She did her best to raise a wall of protection, but as the meeting progressed, her barrier weakened. The 'sharing' in the room seemed especially fraught with despair and hopelessness and even her partial deafness failed to block out the miasma of pain wafting off most in the room.

When it was John’s turn, he simply cried.

Ginny’s heart sank and her barriers fell to the ground. 

As the meeting ended she plucked a feather from her hat and gently stroked John's arm, assuring him "things would get better and to just keep going to meetings." 

She then placed the feather in his hand and mumbled something about hope.

Deep down, she wondered if he would make it.

She knew enough that the outcome had nothing to do with her. She gave him a sisterly hug and left quickly.

As she got in her car, the ringing in her ears blocked off most other sound.

The resulting dizziness made her question her ability to drive and so she sat for several minutes, gathering her equilibrium.

She contemplated her choices.

Pedicure or lunch? Food won.

She managed to follow her car's direction and ended up at the Classic Buffet, a spot home to a wide selection of fairly good food, including roast beef that never failed to impress her.

She found a secluded spot, sat and gathered her energy as best as possible.

After a short rest, she proceeded to the food tables spread with sumptuous fare, ranging from ‘healthy’ choices to totally decadent slabs of grease and carbohydrates.

She made two trips to the food bar, each time returning to her seat quietly, peacefully, thoughtfully enjoying a sense of fulfillment.

Her nourishing choices began to ease, somewhat, the pangs of anxiety that had gripped her body.

Her selections had been carefully considered and included vegetables, protein and a variety of condiments that complemented and satisfied both her inner nutritionist and her gluttonous gourmand. 

She saved just enough room to indulge herself at the dessert bar, a dangerous finale to a terrain studded with landmines.

She arrived at the dessert bar to find she was the only person there.

Wonderful, no one to interfere or influence her choices.

She began the adventure at one end and started working her way to the other side. She carefully broke off small pieces of offerings, rejecting some and selecting others. 

By the time she got to the middle, she became aware that others had joined her. She closed off her peripheral vision and concentrated on the task at hand, filling her plate with as many goodies as she wanted and more importantly desired.

As she debated between two delicacies, knowing her plate would only hold one, the man beside her said: “Trying to resist temptation?”

She almost turned and told him to “Fuck off". However by this time a few children were in the line and she realized that this was not the most appropriate response.

Instead she loudly proclaimed: “Are you kidding?"

"I’m just debating whether to get a bigger plate, or pile a few of these on top of each other!”

The man looked stunned that his passive/aggressive advice was rejected.

His look of annoyance spilled over into a sarcastic observation that "Ginny was going the wrong way in the line." 

She again debated, “Fuck Off” or just smile and continue on her merry way.

She chose an indulgent smile. The presence of children influenced her choice of words.

Ginny proceeded to her table but was aware that beneath the surface a seething caldron of anger was brewing. 

She sat in front of her sweet offerings, said a prayer of thanks to Bacchus or some other God in charge of decadently delicious fare and dug in.

The sugar made its way through her central nervous system, slamming into an already fragile emotional wall.

Ginny began to cry. She gathered her belongings, paid for her bill and knew it was time to go home and sleep herself into oblivion.

Before she left the restaurant she had one last mission to accomplish. 

Now there are those who might doubt her abilities to pull off the following stunt. 

From the bias of their own ignorance, they might question whether a woman her age and weight could accomplish such a deed.

What they failed to comprehend was the raw animal passion that seethed slightly below the surface of a body that many would find repellent.

Gin’s weight, which had begun as a defense mechanism to weed out shallow men, reflected appetites that few men would not enjoy. 

She despised men who’s blindness to this reality kept them at bay.

She was quite aware that for most men, sex boiled down to the lowest common denominator, any port in a storm so to speak.

She was most accomplished at using her inner seductress to lure them to a state of arousal.

She knew that the mind was a powerful organ and had the ability to see past any physical shortcoming.

Men were often puzzled as to why, when in her presence they experienced hard-ons unlike any with women whose bodies were in ‘good’ shape, reflecting more perfectly what the media told them was the physical ideal of a woman.

Gin was keenly aware that humans were very multi-dimensional creatures, entities which actually held no shape, no form, existing solely in the pulse of pure energy.

This was energy that lept and flowed along every nerve in a body, providing the thrust that operates all bodily functions. 

Ginny had been gifted at birth with the ability to easily connect with this energy.

She felt it, tasted it, heard it, experienced it with every sense she possessed and some she didn’t know she had.

She understood quite well how bodies worked. and was intimately aware of the connection between the body and the mind. Her ‘blowjob’ skills may have been somewhat impaired, but she was astutely aware of the underlying principles. 

She was not above exploiting that knowledge.

So, she waltzed past the table of the nosey man and his cohorts, proceeded back to the dessert bar and made herself a huge soft ice cream cone.

She casually sauntered back, passing the men, while sensually licking the ice cream. She seductively eyed each man.

Her slow, deliberate strokes seemed to provoke a mixture of responses.

Several hands quickly dipped beneath the table as certain adjustments were made to accommodate certain reactions to her provocative performance.

Her deliberate act of defiance accomplished, she exited the establishment, leaving behind …well quite honestly, she didn’t give a flying fuck what she was leaving behind.

Meanwhile back in the restaurant, nosey man turned to his cohorts, sighed and asked, "I wonder if she’d have given me her phone number?” 

The other men at the table snorted and in unison replied…

“FAT CHANCE!”