Fat Angel

I’m getting fatter, Lola chided herself, as her busy, chattering, mind skittered from her diatribe against Jackie, to an inner self-accusatory monologue about her own physical appearance.  No…no, I AM fat. (Lola despised the word “Fat” because it sounded like, and reminded her of “Rat.”)  Then, as if a soundtrack were rising to support her free-associations, Lola heard the words of a distant rock n' roll song: “Well, you’re built like a car, You got a hub-cap, diamond star halo.”  Even the music confirmed Lola’s self-impression.  I AM built like a car, Lola cringed, as she lamented her self-perceived physical liabilities. But at least I have a halo.