for making them big fat losers

like me.

TAKE TWO

I find Dr. Woodn’t-You-Like-to-Know

planted as firmly in her chair

as cotton in the South Plains.

Touché.

I sit on the couch.

“Ellie, would you share

something that happened today?”

Like the near-death tug-of-war?

Or when Marissa posted on social media

a picture of me eating a cupcake at

the library’s Banned Books Week celebration,

along with the poll question,

“Ban fatties from cupcakes, yes or no?”

I didn’t have to guess the results.

I say nothing.

Instead, I play a silent game of I spy,

trying to figure out the therapist.

Dr. Woodn’t-You-Like-to-Know

shelves books based on color,

not alphabetically,

so I think she obviously can’t be trusted.

But then I spy

picture frames scattered about

showing her friends of all shapes.

Maybe I can trust her—a little.

DOGGONE GOOD TRICK

“Ellie, do you mind if

my dog joins us today?

It’s okay if you do mind.”

“Mind?

Heck no.

I prefer dogs over humans.”

“I’ll try not to be offended by that,”

Dr. Woodn’t-You-Like-to-Know says, and smiles.

When her border collie enters the office

and jumps up on me as if he’s

the size of my pug instead of a pony,

I’m tempted to make a joke about

Dr. Woodn’t-You-Like-to-Know’s

practice going to the dogs.

I check his collar: Patches.

“Quite a fitting name with your

patches of black and white.

And look at those icy blue eyes.

Reminds me of my mom’s.

Well, her blue eye.

She has one blue, one brown.

Heterochromia.

It’s genetic.”

I think about how genes can make you

more likely to be fat, too.

Mom’s sister, Aunt Zoey, is overweight,

and so are a bunch of her other relatives.

Funny how my fat gene

comes from Mom.

Dr. Woodn’t-You-Like-to-Know

asks if I have a dog.

I nod.

“A fawn pug.

Gigi.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She’s a shelter dog.

I found her trembling

in the back of her cage

when I went to

PugsFurever Rescue’s adoption day.

She wouldn’t even look at anyone,

as if she figured no one would be good to her

because no one ever had been.”

I scratch Patches behind his ears,

and he kisses me a thank-you.

“I’ve been a PugsFurever volunteer ever since.”

“Why?”

“Dogs are powerless when people

are mean to them.

And lots of people are.”

“Hearing you talk about Gigi and

watching you with Patches

tells me you’re a kind and

caring person, Ellie.”

“Dogs listen when people don’t.”

She tucks her hair behind her ears.

Wiggles them.

“I’m listening.”

I can’t help but laugh,

but it’s one of those laughs

that turn to tears.

Doc hands me a box of tissues.

I use three before the tears

slow enough so I can talk.

“Mom’s on me all the time about my weight.