It's Hard Work To Keep This Weight On

I swear to God this happened today.

This morning at my usual Connecticut Starbuck's stop, there was a woman with her husband standing in line right ahead of me. As they waited for their order to be taken, they peered into the display case which offered a bounty of glistening pastry selections. The woman was very petite and inordinately slim, the very prototype of the ideal Fairfield County doyenne. She was so skinny that her skin seemed stretched over her face like a beige shroud. Her cheekbones protruded dramatically from her face at dangerous angles. Her stick-like limbs were swaddled in a rich cashmere sweater and the line of her posture was ram rod straight like a coat rack. No boobs. No hips. Don't even ask me about an ass. It was merely an extension of her lower back.

I'd like to tell you this is a first but the truth is I see several women a day in this area who resemble this silhouette. Invariably blond with skin like parchment paper, they are dressed in superior chic apparel and comparably expensive accessories. They grimace more than they smile (at me, anyway). Yet, I imagine this is a prized silhouette for this region, representing elegance, sophistication, breeding and a superior pedigree; the ante is uped if you can cite a relative that was on the Mayflower. It's evident there ain't no white trash anywhere in their genealogy (except maybe for that unfortunate cousin who shacked up with a Native America way back in the pre-Revolutionary days. Hey, it happens).

But back to my story.

So the delicate blond standing in line with her husband studied the glass case at Starbuck's intently. She crooked a pale white finger on a pale white hand that sported a classic (and impressive) Tiffany wedding ring. She gestured at a collection of breakfast sandwiches artfully displayed on a recessed rack. One, a fully loaded bacon, cheese and egg number on a rustic English muffin was clearly ruled out. She pointed to a turkey bacon, cholesterol free egg and fat free cheese version. Pause. Then she moved up to a wrap version with spinach, feta and avocado. The manicured finger lingered, then wavered. The line grew restless. We needed our coffee.

She leaned in to her equally elegant husband and said, "I'll have the turkey bacon sandwich." He ordered the breakfast sandwiches and their coffee drinks. OK. I move up in line. It's Venti BOLD time, people. Bring it!

Before I could open my mouth to order my voluminous cup of liquid gold, the slim matron came back to the counter with her husband in tow. She mouthed something to him and he called to the counter person heating the sandwiches. He said, "How many calories are in the turkey bacon sandwich?" The counter person was taken aback. "I'm really not sure," she said. The matron then said, "Is the avocado, spinach and feta wrap less calories?" No one seemed to know. Clearly this was not a question that arose with much frequency. Then I heard the husband say, "Well, then I'll eat it if you don't want it."

Now I admire willpower immensely--probably because mine is so limited--but come on. I'd like to take that woman out to an all you can eat buffet and encourage her to go to town. I had to pity her. She sat there sipping her coffee as her husband tucked into both their breakfast sandwiches. She caught me glancing at them and she gave me her best withering matron glare. Or grimace. Which in fact is one of the same.

And why was I still there, you ask? Well, it takes five minutes to heat up an egg, bacon and cheese sandwich. You better believe I savoured every bite.