Slim Chance by Jackie Rose Page A

working late, as she often does. She probably just forgot to call, he assures himself.
    I suppose love really is blind. Actually, in Billy’s case, love is deaf, dumb and blind.
    I wonder if Bruce would do something devious like that. The condom, I mean, not the cheating. Probably not, on both counts. The idea of having kids thrills him, I know that. Plus, the thought of condoms brings out his softer side, if you get my drift. In any case, birth control sabotage isn’t his style. The only thing Bruce might consider poking a hole in would be the theory of relativity or something lame like that. Besides, he probably charts my cycle to know exactly when I’m ovulating, anyway.
     
    I reached into the back of the closet and pulled out the black Anne Klein II Fat Suit ( Allure, December: “Five Work Essentials To Suit Every Figure”). In a state of emergency such as this, I would never get on the scale. But judging from the snugnessof never-fail Fat Suit—and the lines my underwear were leaving on my hips—things had gone from bad to worse. Better skip breakfast and break out the big guns. After work today, I’ll stop by the drugstore. Annie told me that Nicole dropped ten pounds in four weeks on a combination of ginseng ampoules and chromium supplements. I haven’t seen her, and I’m sure she still looks frumpy, but ten pounds, for her, that’s something. I bet she probably took laxatives, too. There must be something at Walgreen’s that’ll work for me.
    At work, I studied the calendar. Let’s see…today was Monday, November 27. That gives me about nine and a half months to go until the wedding. Or 265 days. Thank God it’s a leap year—that’s an extra day which might come in handy.
    I lost five pounds in a single day once, on the cabbage soup diet. But if I wanted to buy my dress soon, there was definitely no time to mess around. Besides, my metabolism ain’t what it used to be. When I was twenty, I lost (and then gained) ten pounds six times in a single year. It was so easy—all I had to do was cut out French fries and chocolate. But I’d been doing that for two whole months, and I’d gained God knows how much. Maybe there was something wrong with me, like some sort of fat-creating disease or something. It was a hopeful thought.
    Pruscilla wouldn’t be back till Monday, so all week long, I devoted myself to researching that very question on the Internet. While Thelma flitted about nervously, preparing neat piles of color-coordinated folders on Pruscilla’s desk, I diligently studied the facts. Unfortunately, the facts were as follows:
    Fact #1: An underactive thyroid may be to blame. Symptoms may include weight gain, irregular periods, flaky skin, depression, weakness, constipation and a puffy face. Eureka! Maybe this was the miracle I’d been praying for all these years.
    Fact #2: I do not have an underactive thyroid. Or type-two diabetes. Or undiagnosed edema of any kind. No systemic medical condition is to blame. An emergency lunchtime visit to mydoctor on Wednesday confirmed these findings. Not at all worth the $120 fee to rush the results of the blood test.
    Fact #3: Pregnancy causes weight gain.
    Fact #4: I am not pregnant. That is, unless there has been an immaculate conception.
    Fact #5: In 1991, doctors at Stanford University Medical Center removed a 303-pound tumor from the right ovary of an otherwise healthy thirty-four-year-old woman. She made a full recovery.
    Fact #6: There is no such tumor in either of my ovaries, also confirmed by my doctor. I do not even have a small tumor.
    Fact #7: Obsessing over one’s weight can be a sign of anorexia. Might I be teetering on the brink of losing half my body weight?
    Fact #8: After completing 14 self-diagnosis questionnaires, it appears the only eating disorder I might be afflicted with is something called binge-eating disorder. Symptoms include eating until feeling painfully full, eating alone due to embarrassment, eating when not hungry, and