Fat Man and the Grim Reaper

 

     I stepped on the scale this morning and saw that I was officially grossly overweight.

     Standing five feet four and weighing 165 pounds.

     It was incredible how I gained so much weight in such a short time. Still, no surprise there, I had been binge eating almost every day. There were times, lots of times that I’d wake up in the wee hours just to eat. There’d always be cake and ice cream in the fridge. And those milk teas, French fries, burgers and beer. I’d stopped exercising; couldn’t recall when I last jogged. My bike now just gathered dusts at the corner of our house. I couldn’t do push-ups to save my life. I now refused to walk even for a short distance. At a mall, the first and last establishment I would enter would be a fast food restaurant. And at home, I’d just sit in front of either the TV or computer all day while eating snacks.

    I was still at the scale when I felt something sharp tapping my shoulder.

     I glanced back and saw a man in a black three-piece suit holding a golden scythe. No, it wasn’t a man; it was a skeleton wearing a suit.

   “Grim Reaper?” I muttered.

   “Yes,” the skeleton said, his jaws shaking and rattling. “My appointment here at your house is at eleven o’ clock, which is two hours from now.” He looked at his wrist which showed no wristwatch. “You will suffer a heart attack and die. Yeah, your gluttony will kill you.”

    “Darn!” I exclaimed.

    “But you know what?” said Mr. Reaper. “I feel guilty collecting your soul. You’re a nice guy, you haven’t done a crime. You’re helpful and polite. You spoil your dog. You binge eat because you’re depressed, you’re heartbroken and you’re always anxious. And you pay for all the food you eat, never stole a bag of potato chips or peanuts. The souls I love to collect are the souls of criminals. I send them to hell with relish. So I got here early to strike a deal with you.  Here’s what we should do. I’d go back here after two weeks and if you’ve lost ten pounds that time, I will let you live. If your weight stays the same, I’d have to collect you. Do we have a deal?”

   “Yes,” I said, relieved.

    And the first thing I did when Mr. Reaper left was to gather the two chicken sandwiches I just bought and all the snacks inside the cabinet to throw into a bin. Yes, I would lose those ten pounds or more in two weeks. And as I walked towards the trash bin, I unfortunately positioned the chicken sandwich so close to my nose and I smelled that glorious scent, and the next thing I knew, I was munching the sandwich. Afterwards, I noticed that one of the potato chips was already open, and I couldn’t help eating it, too.

    I sat on the floor and started opening the rest of the snacks to eat them.

    It’d be embarrassing but I’d die a fat man two weeks from now.

    Or maybe Mr. Grim Reaper would make me another deal—I’d lose not just ten but twenty pounds

   But let me finish this donut first.