Do you think that I'm fat?

The Bitterest Pill took an age before she moved her hand-bag out of the way, so that there was room for me to stake my claim to a piece of the smoking-table on a very quiet Sunday night. She was pissed, loud, obnoxious and poisonous. My Friend had come out with her to keep her company because he’s a good guy. Clarence was at the table and so was Liam. The Bitterest pill dominated my three pints. “Do you think I’m fat?” she asked us. “No” we said, not being entirely truthful. “Well,” she continued, her shrill voice rising in volume. “Look at that fat mess of a woman over there.” None of us turned to look as it was painfully possible that the woman she was talking about could hear what she was saying. “I mean, just look at the size of her, if she can get a boyfriend, why can’t I?” Now, I am not a relate councilor or a psychologist but it may have something to do with the stream of mean-spirited, small-minded, racist, man-hating bigotry that spews out of her mouth. None of us said anything. I turned my back and watched the Spanish football on Sky.