Birdie and the Backhoe

Birdie was pretty sure Gerald wouldn’t hire a crane to get her out. He’d probably remove the picture window in their bedroom and somehow roll her over to the opening and lower her in the bucket of the backhoe. They’d done that before with bathtubs and anything else that was too large to go up the stairs or that was just too heavy and unwieldy for the manpower that Gerald and their son, Jess, could provide.

Maybe they could alert the TLC Network and make a bit of money for Birdie’s treatment by letting them film the extraction. At the least, maybe they could make their own video and go viral on You Tube. There was always The National Intruder, but she wasn’t sure that rag paid their subjects. Maybe just sneaked around and snapped pictures and there you were–staring out at the people waiting in the check-out line at Stuff Mart.

Birdie had heard from a friend that he had read somewhere that after 50, a woman would need to exercise three hours a day just to maintain her current weight. Or was it one hour? It didn’t matter. Either way it was hopeless. Just to stay the same! That poor 50 year old woman was probably already overweight. That meant she would have to labor unceasingly for the privilege of remaining fat. Birdie hadn’t gotten the memo until she was almost 64 years old. Fourteen years too late. She and that 50 year old fat woman were never going to see thin again.

Birdie could hear the beep, beep, beep of the backhoe.

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