“Let’s go, Tub!” I call impatiently.
I bang my clenched fist on his door one more time then the door flies open, hinges squeaking obnoxiously, and there in the doorway stands Tub.
“I’m ready, I’m ready, okay let’s go to dinner.” Tub mutters under his breath in a husky voice, rolling his eyes at my restlessness.
We walk together through the colorful fallen foliage on the street down past the library and up towards the dining hall. We walk in silence, save the crunch of leaves under foot and Tub’s heavy breathing, which soon becomes too irritating for me to bear and I try to strike up a conversation.
“So Tub, how’s the weight loss going?”
He sticks up his nose up to the sky and defensively states, “For your information, I am on a new diet.”
“Good job, Tub! I’m really proud of you! You’re taking initiative!”
“Yeah...it’s great...” he says slowly and slightly apprehensively, his head now down and his eyes on his shoelaces. For some reason that I can’t quite put my finger on, his words sound forced.
We walk inside to meet the loud hustle and bustle of the packed dining hall. We jostle and squeeze our way over to grab our plates, still warm from the dish room, and then I make my way towards the smell of hamburgers. I am just about to pick up one of the meat patties and drop it on my plate when I realize that Tub is no longer standing next to me. I look around in the crowd of people and finally spot him at the salad bar. I am so proud of Tub, he really is trying to take care of the whole weight issue. I walk over to the salad bar.
“I’m just getting a salad tonight,” he tells me proudly, “just a salad.” He painstakingly picks up a few pieces of lettuce and a tomato and puts them on his plate. Trying to help, I offe...
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“This whole diet is a fake,” he blurts out. “I’m not really trying to get thin, the truth is I’m getting fatter than ever.”
“But what about dinner?” I ask, “You ate a salad with light dressing!”
“It’s just a part of the facade. I lead a double life, like a secret agent. I try pretend to be healthy and make a big deal out of just eating a salad for dinner and all that, but when I get back to the dorm I stuff as much candy and junk food into my mouth as possible! I haven’t told anyone my secret until now, not even my roommate knows about my secret stash of food I keep underneath my bed. My family doesn’t know either.”
“Tub, why all this secrecy? Why didn’t you tell me before? I hope you know I am always here for you. I know it takes a lot of courage to tell me your secret and I’m glad you are telling me. I accept you Tub, there’s no need to keep secrets.”
I found this amusing because the imagery here left me no other option but to picture him as a panda sweating off the weight, turning him back into a human. In contrast, I feel as though I am a healthy eater. But it is still refreshing to know he can laugh at his own flaws, just as I can.
“Wow! You were as hungry as I was. Be a good boy and I’ll see you later.”
I sit waiting in my roommates’ apartment here in Canton—I live there as well. I am strapped for cash waiting on my care box (a box full of food and goodies) and an envelope full of cash from my parents. I’m a college student—and I depend on parents for my money and everything else—well for the most part. So I don’t want to eat a lot of my roommates’ food because he is already allowing me to stay here pretty much free of charge although I do pay. I look through my last box of goodies to see if I could find anything. I found some sardines. If you know anything about sardines you know they have this stench that is unbearable and in most cases you will have to mop the entire house with a huge amount of bleach to eradicate the smell. And also they are usually a cuisine of the poor class because of their cheapness. So I eat. Also Marcus eats. He is eating a huge steak—a steak from Texas road house—a restaurant with somewhat authentic Texas food—I say somewhat because I’m not exactly sure what authentic Texans eat— he received the steak free of charge because of Veterans day. Marcus of course offers me a piece. I delightfully reject his offer. And he finally goes into this whole spiel on how I expect him to feel when he is eating steak and I have sardines for dinner. The first thing I think about is—the amount of money my parents are sending is probably more than what he makes in a six month period of time—but I always seem to blow it off quickly on fast-food and whatever else. Even though my family is well off, I still gladly ate a piece of the steak in which I did want a piece but I did not want him to know that I wanted a piece. The catcher and the rye express this same social class and also it dares to overturn them. When H...
“While Mr. Sanders was sitting there motionless, with ketchup residue on his shirt, I read the report. Let us we start with your body fat percentage. Your BMI, body mass index, reads at thirty-three percent. That means a third of your body is fat. The extensive consumption from your appealing fast foods puts your body weight is 526 pounds. Your body style in definition is obese. I know it is not genetics. Two years ago when you came in for a checkup, you were in perfect shape, but now it seems you have started a bad eating trend causing you to become obese. Mr. Sanders, do you have an explanation for yourself?”
“Hell, no,” Alex scoffed. “How I feed myself is none of the government’s business. Fuck their stupid rules.”
Rubbing his belly Joey expressed, "I haven 't had my mother 's mashed potato recipe in weeks. Let 's have the dinner tonight!"
It's Saturday night and I'm in my snug but not skin tight blue spaghetti strap floor length dark royal blue dress, all ready to go out to a very fancy restuarant. Old Country Buffet. As my friend and I climb out of my car in a classy like fashion, we realize that the line to Old COuntry Buffet is at least 50 meters long. "Oh My God." I say as my lipstick chalked lips fall to the floor. Glancing over at a fast-food pizza restaurant, my friend and I look at each other. "Uh huh." We both say. Pizza is better than some buffet anyway, I thought. About five minutes later, some friends of hours emerge from the middle of the centidpede like line and come up to us. I almost jumped in hyperness. "WHazzzzzzup?" I say in such a polite way, sticing my tougue out in my dress.
“Stop, we need this food to pass by the week. You can’t be eating everything up like this.”
"You know what? I don't feel very hungry anymore. Why don't you take that pizza back?" I asked.
bread and scoffs it as if he hasn't had anything to eat for some time.
Food has been a great part of how he has grown up. He was always interested in how food was prepared. He wanted to learn, even if his mother didn’t want him to be there. “I would enter the kitchen quietly and stand behind her, my chin lodging upon the point of the hip. Peering through...
“Are you sure you want to be at home? How about you stay at my place tonight instead?”
After a while of talking he decided it was time to go home, after apologizing for the broken door, and the food he ate the night before, she insisted that it was no problem and that they were very glad to have helped. She walked out the door to get her husband.
Now that the food was almost done it was time to get ready. I let the Alfredo simmer while I went to take a nice steaming, hot shower. After about 15 minutes, I got out and dried off, then I went to my room to get dressed. I picked out ...
I enter an exquisite room welcomed by a benevolent host. I glance around and see dining tables strategically set as if the queen were to be expected. White flowers with silver sparkles adorn the tables to add a final touch. The lights are dimmed low and classical music plays in the background to create a placid atmosphere. A savory aroma fills the room making me crave the chef’s fine platter. The host leads my party to a table and offers us drinks. As we wait for dinner to begin, murmurs fill the room with general conversation.