deep fried misery
Savannah was sick as a dog. She was absolutely miserable and couldn't bear the thought of working with children anymore. She laid in the rec room on the sofa with her arm over her eyes and the other on her stomach. Not her belly, it wasn't tha baby. It was all her.
Oh, she'd had a glorious time eating over the weekend. Eating corn dogs and fried oreos and ice cream and all the diet coke she could take. It seemed all she'd done was eat and drink and pee so she could eat and drink some more. Funnel cakes and onion rings and nachos and deep fried cupcakes. She'd tried everything and it had been so good that she couldn't quit putting things in her mouth. She hadn't even cared about the rides or games because there was food.
And today she wished she'd quit after her first corn dog. Oh, but she was miserable. Momma always told her not to overindulge but she'd been denied for so long and a carnival only came around once a year in her experience. There hadn't seemed to be any harm in it.
She kind of wanted to die, miserable as she felt. And yet Savannah was sure that given the chance she would eat more onion rings and drink more coke and give herself more heartburn. It had been too delicious not to.
"I need another funnel cake like a hole in the head," she said to herself. And then the baby kicked and twisted, distending her belly as it moved and her hand settled on the roundness.
"Just be still, baby. I'm in a world of hurt and I don't need any help making it worse." She'd found she was talking to the baby more and more often now. It was strange, she thought. For so long now she'd thought of it as something distant. Separate. But now she almost felt as if the baby was a friend. A very wriggly friend who didn't seem to understand that she was in a state where she never wanted to see food again.
Oh, she'd had a glorious time eating over the weekend. Eating corn dogs and fried oreos and ice cream and all the diet coke she could take. It seemed all she'd done was eat and drink and pee so she could eat and drink some more. Funnel cakes and onion rings and nachos and deep fried cupcakes. She'd tried everything and it had been so good that she couldn't quit putting things in her mouth. She hadn't even cared about the rides or games because there was food.
And today she wished she'd quit after her first corn dog. Oh, but she was miserable. Momma always told her not to overindulge but she'd been denied for so long and a carnival only came around once a year in her experience. There hadn't seemed to be any harm in it.
She kind of wanted to die, miserable as she felt. And yet Savannah was sure that given the chance she would eat more onion rings and drink more coke and give herself more heartburn. It had been too delicious not to.
"I need another funnel cake like a hole in the head," she said to herself. And then the baby kicked and twisted, distending her belly as it moved and her hand settled on the roundness.
"Just be still, baby. I'm in a world of hurt and I don't need any help making it worse." She'd found she was talking to the baby more and more often now. It was strange, she thought. For so long now she'd thought of it as something distant. Separate. But now she almost felt as if the baby was a friend. A very wriggly friend who didn't seem to understand that she was in a state where she never wanted to see food again.