She made an appointment with a diet doctor in the city. He came highly recommended. He prescribed a regime of amphetamines and barbiturates guaranteed to help her lose weight. She weighed thirty pounds over the “ideal” weight for her height. She had no idea that real men loved women with curves. All she saw when she looked in the mirror was fat.
She started on the course of pills the doctor had given her. She took four pink ones first thing in the morning before breakfast. Then, she swallowed three green at lunchtime and popped two yellow ones just before dinnertime. The six white pills she took before bed made her body sleep.
Man, she felt good: strong and full of energy. The weight dropped off. The cost of the program took all of her spare cash and then some, but this was worth it. Besides, she was saving money on food since she barely ate.
About two weeks into the process, she stopped taking the white sleeping pills. Under regular circumstances, her dreams were full of light, color and excitement. Now, great, giant dragons followed her in the night and huge spiders stalked the landscape.
After a full week of not eating or sleeping, people at her job told her she talked to herself. This was just another price she was willing to pay for perfection. They didn’t understand. What was a psychotic break compared to a svelte figure?
Now that she lost all of the weight she wanted, she was very popular. She went out one night drinking until the regular clubs closed. Then, it was on to the all night club where she continued to drink and dance the night away.
When they closed at six in the morning, everyone went to the diner for breakfast. She could eat a horse and pretty much did.
She drove herself and a friend home. Her friend was cold and tired, so they rolled the windows up, turned the heat on and the radio off.
Next thing she knew, she heard screaming. At first, she thought the screams came from her head, but then she saw her friend running up and down the highway calling for help, yelling she was dead. For some reason, she couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Did you have anything to drink, tonight?” The police officer asked. He just wanted to know, no one got DUI’s back then.
“Yes, sir. We were out partying all night.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired. I want to sleep.”
“Do you know what happened?”
“Yeah, I hit the back of a bread truck.”
The emergency technicians stopped strapping her to the gurney. The policemen looked at her oddly. Then, they all started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” She didn’t get it.
Gasping for breath between guffaws, the policeman informed her, “Yeah, you hit a bread truck all right. You ran into the back of a Wells Fargo Armored Car.”