That woman needs to be dead. Just look at her. She’s so fat her butt hangs over both sides of the chair. Even her elbows look obese. I can’t believe it’s the likes of her that stands between me and my well-deserved promotion. And she’s obviously completely unaware of how awful she looks. She persists in wearing low cut, tight shirts and sweaters. Well, of course, anything would be tight on her. It’s a wonder they even make clothes big enough for someone her size. And the tight pants and the teeny tiny heels that she totters around on. Her feet spill over the sides of them, too, her flesh bulging out between the straps of the sandals. And the shirts or sweaters can’t fit over her stomach, so they ride up, showing the wads of fat around her waist.
But what really makes me curl my lip is that she eats constantly. Like her size, I’m sure she is completely unconscious of all the food she puts away. Whenever we have staff meetings, the company provides a snack tray, coffee, tea, water and several trays of mid-morning stuff—bagels, donuts, muffins—with the accompanying cream cheese, butter and jam. That woman
shovels them into her mouth. Two bites max and they’re gone. She’ll plow through several during an hour’s meeting, sometimes more. Every now and then she seems to remember how she looks to others and tries to hide what she’s doing. She’ll get up, supposedly to refill her coffee cup, but while she’s at the credenza with her back to us, I’ve seen her pop a donut hole or two into her mouth, thinking no one can see. When the tray first gets passed around, she delicately takes only one sweet roll. But sure enough, pretty soon she needs a napkin and off she goes to the side table. Nobody seems to notice but me. But really, who does she think she’s fooling?
Another thing: she seems to think she cuts quite an attractive figure to males. In addition to the low cut tops, she wears a ton of makeup, blue eye shadow, that sort of thing, lots of jingly jewelry, her hair brassy with a bad dye job, all teased and sprayed. She glances coyly at any man who speaks, laughs a phony tinkling laugh at their jokes. She makes me sick, okay, just sick. That would be true, even if she weren’t my immediate supervisor and blocks any advance I try to make. I know if she were gone, I’d rise to the top at this place.
So, yeah, she’s gotta go. Hell, no way she’s ever gonna leave on her own. Who else would hire her? Heck, how the hell did she get hired here to begin with? Maybe back then she was slim or at least slimmer, and had more taste. But, as we all know, there are lots of mysteries in life about why some people manage to get and keep their jobs. Right now, none of them are my problem. Only her.
I’m sure it would be easy to do. A sprinkling of some poisonous white powder or crystals on top of a muffin. She’d gulp it down so fast, she’d never notice any difference. Of course, I have to figure out how to make sure she got the one with the powder. But wait, why? Would it be so awful if a few of the others went down with her? It could be like that drug scare way back when. Some lady wanted to do away with her old man, so she poisoned a bunch of bottles of pills on the shelf so it would look like some mad crazy person was killing people randomly. I could do that. I could talk ahead of time about how I’m going on a diet. Then, when they find out that all the pastries had been poisoned, that would explain why I was the only one who survived or didn’t get sick.
Still, that might not be enough to stop suspicion from falling on me. Too convenient, if you know what I mean, that I was the only one who didn’t have a snack that day. Plus, how could I get the powder sprinkled over all the treats without anyone noticing. Actually, that’s easy. They always set up ahead of time. I just have to get in the room, get it done, get back to my cubicle without anyone seeing me and then go to the meeting along with everybody else. But heck, what if I was seen? That would look even worse for me. Okay, so not the treats. Maybe her coffee. But again, how do I get it in her cup? I could put it in the coffee urn. Easier to slip something in there and me not being a coffee drinker—I always get tea—it wouldn’t look funny if I didn’t die.
I wonder how much poison it would take. That’s something I’ll have to look in to. And you won’t catch me researching that on my home computer or here at work. I know better than to fall into that trap. Also, wouldn’t I need to figure out a way to plant suspicion on someone else? Let’s face it, there really aren’t a lot of crazy mass murderers working in the building. Plus, we’re not the kind of outfit that attracts saboteurs.
Okay, so maybe poison won’t work. I can come up with some other way, I’m sure. Well, I can hardly blow her away with a shotgun. Or run her over in the parking lot. Think, Girl, think.
Of course, if there were any justice in the world, she’d already be dead, like from a heart attack or something, the way she eats and all. But no, I have to do everything around here.
Hey, why’s everybody applauding? My mind was really drifting. I have no idea what’s going on or what was just said. But she’s beaming and smiling and thanking everybody. I have to find out. I lean over to the fellow next to me.
“I didn’t catch all of that. What did she say, again?” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. But he whispers over the din.
I couldn’t believe it. She won the lottery?! The biggest one in the nation! She’ll be quitting work to manage the charitable foundation she’s established?! And she and her fiancé are getting married? Her last day is this Friday. Unbelievable. I also can’t believe the old cow has a fiancé. How come she can find someone to fall in love with her, and I’m still stuck being single and alone.
Well, I guess I don’t have to kill her after all. She doesn’t realize what a close call she had. Some people have all the luck, don’t they just?
BIO:
Lida Bushloper has published short mystery fiction in King’s River Life and confession stories in multiple markets. Visit her blog at http://lidabushloper.wordpress.com.
