Donna was thoroughly sick of her roommate, Blaire. Particularly since Blaire was one of those detestable people who could eat anything and never gain any weight. There’d been a good reason for having Blaire as a roommate, Donna remembered. Blaire was an accountant. Since gaining her as a roommate, Donna hadn’t had to worry about the bills. Now if only perfect Blaire would just gain some flab.
Donna worked as a computer game designer. This meant she spent most of her time sitting on her butt in a room with four different junk food dispensers. At her last work required doctor’s appointment, she’d been informed that she was 200 pounds overweight. If she didn’t lose some of that weight soon, or so her doctor said, she could develop diabetes or even have heart failure. Donna’s insurance had paid for her to visit a nutritionist, whose first advice had been to go through the house and get rid of all junk food, replacing it all with healthy alternatives.
The trouble with this? Blaire.
Blaire wasn’t about to give up all her favorite food and commit to subsisting on brown rice and potatoes until Donna lost all that weight. Unfortunately, Donna had made the mistake of thinking she knew best and had chucked all of Blaire’s junk food while Blaire was asleep. Apparently, Blaire viewed this as some kind of act of war.
The very next day, as Donna was finishing her whole wheat spaghetti, Blaire came sauntering into the apartment holding a triple scoop spumoni ice cream cone. With a look of pure evil on her face, Blaire seated herself at the table opposite Donna and slowly ate the cone. Donna, having made a commitment to her nutritionist not to leave the table until she had finished her meal and to eat that meal slowly, was forced to endure this spumoni torture until her plate was clean.
The day following, Blaire appeared at the table with a large box of chocolates which, compared to Donna’s green salad, looked divine. Blaire sat and slowly ate each piece of candy, making delicious noises over each one as she did so. Donna managed to finish her salad before Blaire finished her candy, but Donna wasn’t able to find the leftover box.
That was the thing. On the surface of things, Blaire was being quite helpful. When she was responsible for the shopping, she always came home with healthier alternatives. There were more healthy snacks in the apartment than there had ever been before. Blaire even reminded Donna to go to the gym every day. It was just at dinner time that Blaire seemed to be so horrible. Each night she would come home with another sinful treat and eat while Donna was trapped at the dinner table.
One day, while Donna was struggling to enjoy yet another salad, Blaire came wandering in with a paper sack bearing the logo from one of the local fast food joints. Donna sighed, laying her fork down in her salad bowl. If she was going to have to suffer, she might as well not be eating while she did so. For a wonder, though, there was no evil smile from Blaire. Instead, she meekly seated herself at the table and drew from the bag a plastic dish containing a green salad, complete with a dressing packet containing a balsamic vinaigrette.
“What’s this,” Donna asked, surprised in spite of herself.
Blaire sighed. “I just came back from the doctor,” she replied, slipping a well-manicured fingernail between the plastic salad dish and its lid and levering them open. “She asked me to do bloodwork last week and apparently my cholesterol count is up where it should be down and vise versa.” She offered Donna an apologetic smile.
Donna resisted the temptation to smile at this evidence that karma was a reality. Instead, she reached across the table to grasp Blaire’s hand. “That’s okay. My doctor says I have to lose at least a hundred pounds this year or I’m going to be a candidate for the cover of Diabetic Living Magazine.”
Blair laughed, tearing her dressing packet and drizzling the aromatic contents over her salad. “I should apologize,” she said, fiddling with her plastic fork.
“So should I,” Donna chuckled back.
Okay, I know this one isn’t 1200 words. They can’t all be that long, can they? Anyway, if enough people like this one, I’ll try to expand it to 1200 words, okay? Also, in the comments, tell me how you’d get back at someone who threw out your food or what you’d do if someone was torturing you with food.