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The insurance company sent over a fat nurse. Maybe it was a bowel blockage? If there was a God, he made her capable, gave her an executive job or maybe made her the president and she was wearing a stunning Chanel suit and showing women how to change the world. My little fat Gracie! You are not Grace. Grace herself begins to disappear, taking drugs meant to bleed the fat from her own body. It reminded me of a toadstool. These are the things single women tell themselves. My head hurt. I admit, I had let myself go. She was sitting upright. Excuse me, waiter, are there nuts in this coffee?

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