Fat in Beirut

So, three fat women walk into a government office; did that sound like the front end of a bad joke? Let me try again.

One tired, miserable writer walks into a government office after two weeks of incompetent officials and hot, hot Beirut sun; how difficult could it be to renew your girlfriend’s visa, right?

And as I stood there in the hot, hot office waiting for yet another lazy laborer who really knew what papers I still needed, to get off his very important phonecall and work his way through the man with the moustache, lady in a scarf, smelly guy in pink tights, smelly guy in jeans and smelly guy in – what the hell is he wearing? – the universe took a moment to remind me how lucky I am.

‘Excuse me monsieur, can I pass?’

I turned to explain to the squeaky voice that despite her (not altogether) fairer gender she’d still have to wait in the miserable, sweaty line. I wish I’d gotten the chance to; I generally come up with some decent commentary when I’m stressed.

‘My God! You’ve lost so much weight!’

Cue the veiled lady behind the counter; and if our new friend had lost weight then I can’t imagine what she looked like before.

‘Teach me,’ said another woman, ‘I’ve been trying but it isn’t working.’

Reminder: these woman had the bone structures of whales.

Contestant number two had breasts the size of watermelons, and those duck-shaped lips that are the telltale sign of botched plastic surgery. It was a particularly interesting botch-up though; you could tell that the same guy who ruined her lips had also ruined her cheekbones, facelift and new nose. The breasts were surely someone else’s work; someone with roots in farming.

‘She doesn’t eat,’ said contestant number three. This may have been her sister, but any family resemblance was lost to a scalpel decades ago. Contestant number three had done some pretty extensive work to her face, and the way she eyed her maybe-sister’s landscaping gave me the feeling that she had bodywork in her near future: ‘She doesn’t eat and she’s still gaining weight.’

‘Oh, I don’t eat either,’ said the first whale, ‘but I’ll bet you still drink a lot of water, right?’

If any one of these delicate flowers had spent a day without food, may I be struck down into hamburger and fed to them.

‘I can’t help it, I get thirsty.’

‘That’s the secret, but it’s not easy. And you’re fat all over, so it’ll take a while.’

Gentle, delicate flowers; but as I shed a tear for the future of humanity I consoled myself with the drink I’d have once I got home, and the headlines from the imaginary newspaper in my head: ‘Plastic trio dies of dehydration; silicone salvaged for rubber ducks.’