Reginald looked at the tumbler full of thick, green smoothie before him and sighed deeply.
Sherice called it green super-food. She said it was full of things that were good for him. Things like blended vegetables and hemp seed powder and blue-green algae.
He thought it looked like she’d skimmed it out of a drainage ditch.
She caught him hesitating and flicked his ear with a well manicured nail. “Drink up, now. Tastes better before it settles.”
Obediently he took a glug, winced and swallowed. “Why’re you doing this to me?”
“Because if your backside gets any bigger, the only place in the city you’ll be able to find pants that fit is off the wall at Schwabs.” Sherice gave him one of her sweet but deadly looks. “And that just won’t do.”
Another glug, wince and swallow. “We could just work out you know. Go for a walk. Maybe ride a bike?”
She glared at him. “But, darling, that’s like admitting you’re fat. And I won’t let those harpies at the gym see me in a leotard. Now don’t dawdle, we’ve got to lace you into that man-corset before you leave for work.”
Glug, wince, swallow.
Memphis has the lovely distinction of being both the fattest city in the nation, and the most sedentary. Which I think is nothing more than a sign our food is so good no one wants to get up from the table. Schwab’s is an old-style general store on Beale Street that’s full of kitschy things – and the biggest pants you can buy in the state.