Myrna Pancakes; latest draft

Each mile she drove and each corner she turned tested the shocks and springs of her old Saturn. She was a big girl and filled most of the front seat, spilling a bit onto the passenger seat, and dribbling into the back. Both front windows were made of plastic sheeting and duct tape. She didn’t seem to mind. Myrna, her large bosom pressing against the wheel, pushed ahead; proud and determined. She was late for the first serving of pancakes at The Pancake House.

Every morning at seven sharp, she drove the Saturn as fast as she dared to the lot behind the restaurant so she could be the first to be seated. All the waiters knew her. She squeezed into the booth, holding her breath as she did, and when her flesh came to rest, she was ensnared in the booth; her bosom covering a good part of the table and pushing the syrups, napkin holder and utensils from her reach.

She ordered the large, all-you-can-eat stack and two glasses of milk, large. When her pancakes came, she slathered on the butter, asking for more right away, and drowned each of the pancakes in a thick, blanket of maple syrup and more butter. She ate them quickly, keeping her eyes focused on her plate and making calculated and deliberate moves with her silverware so she wouldn’t waste any motion getting the large portion to her sticky and shiny lips – by this time, dripping with butter and syrup. She asked for another stack. When they came, she had finished both glasses of milk, so she ordered another as she built her pyramid of cakes, butter and syrup – a little faster this time, as the time was drawing closer to the time to get to her morning appointment. She always saved the best bite, and the biggest bit for last. It was her way of giving herself a special treat.

Myrna had an appointment to get her nails done this morning. She wanted some silk wraps on her acrylics this time, and was determined to get the exact shade of red that matched the lipstick that her boyfriend liked. Her boyfriend, Gordon, was a retired dock worker. At one time, he weighed 45o pounds, but after his stomach was stapled, he dropped to 300. He had back trouble, foot trouble, hip problems, and had a score of operations performed for various things, including hernia operations, thyroid, teeth extractions, etc. In his late 50’s he had worn out most of the useful parts of his body, but managed to coax his penis into active duty with a double dose of blue pills purchased on the Internet.

They made love after supper. Supper was always the most elaborate of meals and the height of ceremony. Potatoes were to be done just so, with milk and butter, then spooned carefully back into the baked shells. The meat, pork and beef, was to be roasted, then seared on the grill so the grill marks would cross and re-cross the face of the chops and steak. They both ate until they were a little dizzy, then they put the dishes in the sink and went to Myrna’s room to cuddle. They tore ate each other like they were opening packages of cookies. In a few hours, all that remained were remnants of Gordon’s eyeglasses and his white, wool socks.