LITMIR.BIZ

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to pay attention to the real deal. Karen’s last attempt at physical exercise had been on the high school shuffleboard team, which she quit her sophomore year. Me … my dog pulled me up the steep hills when I rode my bike, and I didn’t like to paddle my kayak faster than I could walk.

      Add to this the fact that we were heading up to Deer Falls Trail, which twisted its way four thousand feet up Mount Chenutney. Apparently, the trail was so named because of the alarming number of deer that fell to their deaths on said trail, something I found less than reassuring.

      But more than the hike was, of course, the attire. Damn that Muriel! I knew this was deliberate. She wanted me to look bulging and soft and sluggish, and since I was all those things, I would.

      “Blerk!” I yelled, startling my dog. As I flopped down on my bed, the waistband of the satanic bike shorts cut into what had yesterday been a pleasant amount of padding and today was clearly blubber. I glanced at my rocking chair, which held no solutions and indeed, didn’t seem to want to speak to me. When you’re with me, it seemed to say, we’re not going to be shallow. Got it?

      “Got it,” I said, well aware that I needed to stop talking not just to Betty Boop and Michelle Obama, but to my furniture as well. “Don’t worry,” I told Bowie, who was looking at me, his lovely little brow wrinkled in concern. “I’ll always talk to you. Any way you can chew some of this fat off?”

      My dog gave my hand a few licks, but otherwise declined. I’d already tried my Dr. Rey’s Shapewear, but that type of bondage was not going to work if I was supposed to hike up several thousand feet of mountain. Even a rush order of hiking shorts from BTR was not going to make it in time for tomorrow.

      I groped behind me for the phone and called Hester. “Hey,” I said. “Is there some miracle drug you can prescribe for me that will take off about ten pounds by tomorrow?”

      “No,” she boomed amiably, “but I can come over and lop off your head. That’d be about eight and a half, nine pounds. How would that be?”

      “You’re no help,” I said. “I have to wear these stupid bike shorts tomorrow, and I have a food baby—”

      “I’m hanging up now,” she said, and did just that. I really couldn’t blame her. Yes, yes, I was incredibly pathetic. But still. There had to be something I could do. I picked up the phone and tried Annie, who tended to be much, much more sympathetic about matters like these.

      “Hey!” she said. “What’s up?”

      “I need to drop a few pounds overnight,” I said, getting right to the point. In the background, I could hear the clatter of pans. “What are you cooking?”

      “Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk about it, if you’re trying to lose weight,” she said, ever wise. “Seamus, spit that out right now. I don’t care. It’s raw.”

      “Give him a kiss for me,” I said.

      “Callie’s sending you a kiss, Seamus. Spit that out, I said!” She turned her attention back to me. “So what’s going on?”

      “Corporate hike, skinny Muriel, formfitting bike shorts, food baby. Need I say more?”

      “Ooh,” she said. “Okay, yeah, I understand. I can help. Write this down.”

      We were best friends for a reason.

      FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, I was back in regular clothes and at a store I’d never patronized before: The Happy Herb. It was new, it was organic, it smelled funny, a cross between hay, garlic and pot.

      “Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the counter. She smiled and pushed her lank and somewhat thin hair behind her ears.

      “Oh, I’m fine! Just browsing!” I said, not about to admit I was a shallow dope who wanted to look good in front of her ex-boyfriend and his new woman. I figured I’d just float around the store, find the product I was looking for, possibly explain that I worked in advertising and was doing some research, hence my purchase.

      Once Annie had given me the Holy Grail of weight loss medicines, I checked Google, and the online testimonials had been quite encouraging. One woman (Cindy G. from Alabama) said she lost seven pounds just before her fifteenth high school reunion. An entire dress size!

      “So how’s business?” I called out, pretending to check out the natural hair care products. One brand of shampoo had eggs, yogurt and honey in it. You could shower and have breakfast in one fell swoop.

      “Business is great!” she answered. “Are you from around here?”

      We chatted amiably as I drifted through the aisles. Personal Care. Sexual Enhancement. Memory Improvement. Attitude Modification (perhaps I could slip some into my mother’s coffee). Ah, here we were! Intestinal Health. And bingo, the item I’d come looking for … Dr. Duncan’s Cleanse ‘n Purge Weight Loss Jump-Start Tea.

      “Hmm,” I murmured, picking up the box as if intrigued. “Interesting.” The copywriter in me wondered if a more subtle product name wouldn’t help sales. The box looked like something Dr. Duncan had assembled while watching TV … it was slightly crooked and held shut with Scotch tape. The front panel showed a blurry picture of Dr. D., a smiling, bearded and very thin man. The copy on the back was off center. Tsk, tsk. Perhaps I’d contact Dr. Duncan and pitch him.

      Reading the box, I cringed. Dr. Duncan’s Cleanse ‘n Purge Weight Loss Jump-Start Tea is 100% herbal all natural organic, guaranteed to detoxify your bowels from the modern-day poisons you ingest every day—eep!—maximize your liver’s ability to filter toxic waste—dear God!—blah blah blah, ah, here we go … adhering to and flushing out your body’s fat cells, allowing you to jump-start your new weight loss and health maximization with results that can be measured within hours!

      Okay. So tonight would be spent in the bathroom, I got that. Wishing that I was a more sensible person, the kind who didn’t try to lose seven pounds in a twelve-hour period, I picked up the box. Don’t do it, Mrs. Obama advised. Sure. Easy for her to say. There were Pilates classes in her honor. Besides, common sense was outweighed by the image of my disgusting food baby. And after all, hadn’t the tea worked for Cindy G.?

      I glanced around the store. No one here but the clerk. Superb. Of course, I wasn’t about to buy just the Cleanse ‘n Purge … I had to hide it among other purchases. I grabbed some beeswax-based shampoo. A little moisturizer, what the heck. Some green tea that Noah might like, better than the black coffee he swilled all the livelong day. Oh, some sassy lip balm for Josephine. Apricot shower gel for Bronte. Organic cookies for Bowie, who, it must be acknowledged, really preferred Quarter Pounders with cheese. Bringing it all to the counter, I made sure the Cleanse ‘n Purge box was buried in the middle.

      “So glad you found something!” the clerk sang.

      “Oh, me, too!” I sang back. “I bought some stuff for my nieces.”

      “Great! I’m so happy!” she said, seeming to mean it quite profoundly. She scanned the shampoo, humming as she did so. Then she looked past me and beamed again. “Hello! Welcome to the Happy Herb!”

      I turned to look, then flinched. It was Ian McFarland. Crap. No woman wants to be caught buying a weight loss miracle, let alone one called Cleanse ‘n Purge. And certainly not by the man who’s already seen her at her worst. Leaning subtly over the counter so my arm sort of draped over Dr. Duncan’s blurry, bearded face, I decided to play it friendly. “Hi there, Ian,” I chirped.

      “Hello, Callie,” he said neutrally. His eyes met mine briefly, and he gave a little nod. That was it.

      And yet … and yet he remembered my name. Which, of course, he should. But still. It felt like a compliment. And he was … I don’t know. Big. Male. He was a big, strong male. And I liked big, strong males. Get a grip, my imaginary Michelle told me. Yes, ma’am, I answered silently. Sorry. But even as I apologized, my attention drifted back to Ian.

      He wore jeans

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