Death Camp of Fat Intolerance
an excerpt

Amy adjusted her Gucci sunglasses and eyed the nanny. Her tongue wobbled in her mouth, wanting to lick, lick, lick her puffy lips. She pressed her mouth shut, knowing that was ugly too and it would probably make wrinkles beside her mouth. She inspected the woman, who was in her mid-thirties, ten years older than the pair on the bench, as she played with the children. Finally she had to speak. “What about her?”
“Her ankles,” Kelly said, her lips barely moving. She was a bo-tox addict.
“Huh?” Amy said, and then realized what she had said. “What about her ankles?” she corrected herself, speaking properly.
“Her ankles are thick,” Kelly responded. Her words were barely intelligible.
“She’s old, like 35,” Amy said, and realized she’d used “like”. She licked her lips, then bit them to stop licking, scraping off her lip gloss with her top teeth. Great. She pulled out her compact and started repairing the damage.
Kelly sighed. “She’s fat,” Kelly said, not bothering to lower her voice so Lucy couldn’t hear. “Fire her.”
“Huh?” Amy said again. Apparently the collagen had sunk into her brain as well.
“You can’t have that fat bitch around our kids. Or around us.”
Amy blinked at her. She licked her lips. She saw the slight shudder come over Kelly’s frozen face at the sight. “Why?”
Kelly’s eyes widened slightly, one of the few expressions left to her. “Contagious,” she hissed through her rigid lips.
Amy’s tongue swiped at her swollen mouth again as she contemplated the woman playing with the two children. “Thick ankles?” she ventured.
“Obesity!” Kelly almost shouted. Amy could see the effort it took Kelly to open her mouth that wide. Kelly’s lips were thin and naturally shaped, the original mouth she’d been born with.
The tongue crept out and explored leisurely while Amy studied the nanny.
“Will you stop doing that? It’s disgusting,” Kelly fumed.
“What?” Lick.
“Licking yourself.” The dark-haired woman shuddered.
“Oh.” Amy locked her tongue behind her teeth and kept looking at the Nanny. “She doesn’t look sick,” she offered a minute later.
“She is fat!” Kelly fumed. “And she’s breathing on my daughter and your son. Do you want your children to grow up being TUBBY?” Kelly shivered. “Remember Nancy? How fat she was? How everything on her jiggled? Do you want your son to look like that when he grows up?”
Amy remembered Nancy. Nancy was probably as fat as Amy and Kelly put together, when both were pregnant. She had been the fattest person in high school, the brunt of every joke.
Her errant tongue lapped at the corner of her sensitive mouth, which was hanging open slightly. “I don’t get it,” she said finally.
“You’re gonna get it,” Kelly said crudely, elbowing her friend, “if you don’t stop that licking. And shut your damn mouth. You look like a retard. Why did you ever get your lips done if you were going to fuss so much over them?”
“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Amy protested. She looked at the nanny. “Her ankles aren’t that fat,” she said.
“Do you want them on the ends of your legs?”
Amy looked down at her long, thin legs and shook her head.
“Well if you keep letting that fat bitch breathe on your kid, he’s going to get fat, and then he’ll breathe on you, and you’ll get fat, and I won’t be your friend anymore.”