across the coffee table.
No wonder my clothes didn’t fit.
If I kept this up much longer the only thing I’d achieve was proving a person actually could explode.
I clicked off the television and moved to stand. My over-sugared limbs protested, so I rolled off of the sofa instead. I crawled toward the DVD player and reached for the belly-dancing DVD, still secure inside its wrapper.
Getting the cellophane off the case might have been a workout, but it was the DVD itself that blew me away. Had I been born a double-jointed, swivel-hipped, rubber-band woman, the moves might have been doable. But, because I had been born...well...me...the moves were anything but.
I’m sure my gyrations weren’t easy to watch. Matter of fact, five minutes into the beginner routine, Poindexter groaned and left the room.
I paused for a moment, watching the dog’s departure.
What did it say when even man’s best friend could no longer take being in same room with you?
I worked out for...oh...another five or six minutes before the stitch in my side became more than I could bear.
Not a problem. I had a plethora of infomercial purchases to choose from in search of my next activity.
I started with the flashlight that needed no batteries. The instructions clearly stated a simple shake would magically cause the flashlight to illuminate. Quite frankly, the beam of light was about as weak as my atrophied muscles.
I tossed the flashlight aside and reached for my next victim.
The space-saver bags.
I started with the linen closet upstairs, ignoring the groan of protest from Poindexter, now firmly ensconced beneath my bed.
I cleared the shelves, stuffing extra sheets, towels and blankets into the assortment of bags that had come in the deluxe package.
Next, I dug the vacuum cleaner out of the guest room, plugged it in and used the attachment hose to suck every ounce of air from the bags.
I was left with an empty closet and the sinking realization the sense of accomplishment brought on by the sight of flattened storage bags was the most satisfaction I’d felt in a long time.
I pulled myself up, tossed the bags into the closet and shut the door, vowing to take drastic action.
I cleaned.
I tore the house apart from top to bottom, from kitchen cupboard to garage shelves. By the time the sun rose, the pile of discarded items on the curb resembled a mini Kilimanjaro and oddly, I didn’t care what the neighbors thought.
My house sparkled, purged of the old and unused. Scrubbed clean of accumulated cobwebs and dust.
I planted my fists on my hips and smiled.
Poindexter tentatively poked his nose from beneath the bed and studied me. Then he studied his surroundings, the look of amazement blatant across his furry face.
“This is how we’re going to do things from here on out,” I said, nodding my head in his direction. “No more hanging on to crap. No more letting clutter overwhelm us.” I pumped my fist into the air. “We’re going to face life head-on and we’re going to deal with whatever happens.”
The dog moaned and backpedaled out of sight.
I confidently marched into the master bathroom and reached for the thing I feared the most.
The scale.
I drew in a deep breath, steadied myself, then placed the scale in the middle of the tile floor. I pressed the button to activate the electronics and waited for the series of zeros that were my cue to step aboard.
I closed my eyes as I waited for the beep, seriously unprepared for what I saw when I looked at the readout.
One hundred and fifty-one pounds.
I blinked. I rubbed my eyes. I looked again.
Damn.
This was a new all-time low...er...high.
I peeled off my clothes, layer by layer, until I stood in the middle of my bathroom buck-naked.
I reset the scale and tried again.
One hundred and fifty.
Holy cow.
Without thinking, I jerked open the bathroom window and hurled my most hated possession toward the pile of trash below.
The scale hit the sidewalk in an explosion of glass and metal.
“Rough night?”
I winced.
Number Thirty-Six.
Didn’t this guy ever sleep?
I peered out the window, frowning at the sight of the man walking his cat on a leash.
Who the hell walked their cat on a leash?
When his eyes popped wide, I remembered a key point.
I dropped to my knees and pressed my naked back to the wall.
With any luck, the entire episode would be blanked from Number Thirty-Six’s memory by the terrifying vision of my bare breasts.
I pressed my face to my palms and muttered a string of expletives.
Just when I thought I had