Mean Girl

This is the 14th story in this series

of stories that people tell and I write.

Fourteen!

Thank you for reading.

”Do you understand how fat you are? I mean can you even comprehend the massiveness of your body, how it just seems to go on and on and never stop?”

She’s quiet. There is nothing she can say back. It continues.

“Turn around.”

She turns. She sees that it is true. There is so much of her. There is too much.

“Jesus Christ. Take off those jeans. You look disgusting.”

She does. She looks disgusting.

She takes the jeans off and tries not to see her thighs as she pulls on a larger pair, ones more like her.

“Change the shirt too. You need a longer one to cover those massive hips.”

She starts to cry then. It’s just so hard to hear these things from someone you should love, who is supposed to love you back.

She changes into a longer shirt, one that better hides her hips, but the shirt does nothing for her upper body that is so small and ugly. She knows that she will hear about this next, and she does.

“No. Get a different shirt. That one makes you look like you have less tits than you really do.”

She pulls the oversized shirt off and does not look at her belly, at how it still pushes over her pants a little even when the pants are the right size. She wishes she could just cut it off. She wishes she could cut off her belly.

“You still look terrible, but there is nothing more you can do. You don’t have time.”

She knows that this is true, that she will either have to go like this or she will have to stay home, curled up on the couch and hating herself.

“That awful hair,” she hears. “Maybe if you put lipstick on it will distract from it some, brighten up your complexion too.”

She thinks that’s a good idea. She gets the lipstick from her purse. Slowly she applies it, trying to be perfect.

She steps back then, takes a look. She can barely stand it and so she turns off the light.

It is dark now and it is better.

She can no longer hear herself in the mirror.