Photo by Paul Friel
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 I should do, to get off his supremely important call 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.’
I remind you: this woman could put walruses to shame.
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 would surely have been 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 number one, ‘but I’ll bet you still drink a lot of water, right?’
If any one of them had spent a day without food, may I have been 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 headlines from the imaginary newspaper in my head: ‘Plastic trio dies of dehydration; silicone salvaged for rubber ducks.’
All Rights sold to Time Out Beirut
You You You are getting married!! Mabrouk 
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Rubber ducks rock!
side note: they are fat, ugly and stupid. Pick something a bit more controversial, no discussion is opened with this nonetheless carefully crafted – though too many paragraphs to my taste – prose.
Ya ahlan
Was that your SMS I got from France? If so, I had to drink as a result.