Normally I have an insult ready for every occasion. May your child be born without a butt-hole is my favorite. But the accusation of being a porker yesterday left me speechless. Imagine my horror when I registered with a new quack and his cheery Chinese male nurse said to me, “You are clinically obese.”
Ok, I’m not size zero, or even size two, like I pretend when signing my name V Lash Size 2 Eats. But a size four—with the help of a coat hanger and the manservant to pull up my zip—is hardly obese, even in Beijing, where the skinny little bitches have been chomping too many pork buns lately and have grown asses the size of America.
Of course I sent Mr. Lash around to interrogate the nurse, who, not exactly the male Kate Moss himself, claims he said, “Clearly very sweet.” Which is not an appropriate comment to someone who has just handed you a urine sample. I will admit I’ve been deaf in one ear since catching pneumonia on the night flight back from Havana—and it was a relief to hear the bores only on my right—but sometimes it leads to problems.
The last time I misheard something was when I met Mr. Lash’s mother for the first time. Mrs. Lash Senior said, “You’re gorgeous.” I slapped her hard on the face. I thought she’d said, “Your nose is enormous.” Red faces all around when Mr. Lash translated her remark, her face quite a bit redder than mine.
I would have taken her to the emergency room for stitches but I’ve always been allergic to hospitals. In my experience, doctors are perverse. My evil twin was briefly a student at Harvard Medical School and has told me stories about trainee surgeons simulating sex with skeletons. Then there’s the TUBE—totally unnecessary breast examination—which all women with their own hair and teeth under 90 are subjected to. Then there are the docs who suggest an internal exam when you ask for hay fever tabs.
At least the new quack didn’t try to touch me. “You have not shrunk,” he said, staring at my notes. “You are the same height as it says on your chart.” Well that’s good to know. Now I don’t mind at all that I was called obese! I do shrink when I take off my Louboutins, but since I sleep in them nobody needs to worry about that.
Now I’ve had enough of the world and everybody in it. I’m staying in bed watching Freaks until the winter’s over.
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