The last thing he said when he walked out the door was, ``I could never understand how you allowed yourself to become so fat.''
She actually stepped back as though he had slapped her. What was he talking about? I'm not fat, she thought, I've never been fat. What did he mean?
She was five foot six. She weighed one hundred and forty five pounds. Fat? She examined herself in the mirror. She took a hand mirror and viewed herself from every angle. She stood straight and pulled in her stomach. She relaxed and stood normally.
Well, no, not really fat but definitely chunky - maybe more ugly than chunky. No worse than most other women her age. OK she was no longer the magical sylph she had been at seventeen but come on! Who is? What did he expect? Three children had been born and grown and left her since then. She'd gained a few pounds after each child and not bothered to lose it. Throw in twenty five Christmases and Thanksgivings and there you have it.
He'd never said a word. True she did not accost him with his deficiencies - farting in bed - eating his Wheaties with horrible slurping, sloshing sounds - his dreadful love handles - she never said a word.
He'd just have got mad, she thought, nothing would have changed. But if he'd said to her I wish you'd lose some weight, what would she have done? It was hard to know. Men don't say things like that to their wives.
She got out the family photo album. The wedding. A shame about the seventies. The Gunny Sack dress she'd chosen. Her young husband's maroon acrylic western style leisure suit. Pink fichu at his neck. His ballooning curls. Her lank braids.
But still they were both beautiful, glowing in their mutual love. Then the first child. Stunned awe on their faces. She oozing milk and maternity, clutching the beet faced bawling creature to her heart. He standing transfixed at the miracle.
Then the camping trips. She could see herself thickening. Shirt always on the outside of her jeans. Toasting marshmallows at Yosemite. She remembered what happened next. Little Sandy dropped a hot marshmallow on her sandaled foot. The howls!
``She still has a scar,'' she said out loud.
The dog thought maybe she meant she was taking him for a walk so he got to his feet and looked hopeful, but she didn't notice him so he took the opportunity of climbing on the forbidden couch and stretching out luxuriously.
For the next few days she watched what she ate and took the dog for a run every morning. Then she had a hard day at work. No lunch. On the way home she stopped at McDonalds and bought herself a cheeseburger and fries, apple pie and coffee. When she got home she parked herself on the couch, turned on the TV news and settled back hungrily. How she loved to dip those fries in ketchup!
``That wasn't the reason,'' she thought, ``that wasn't why he left. That was just mean.'' And she continued eating.