A pizza box flew across the garden into next doors bushes. Sasha lent her elbows on the kitchen surface, with her chin sitting in her open palms, as she watched her recycling box offer its contents to the skies and neighbours gardens. The kettle boiled and misted  the window slightly, impairing Sasha’s view.
“Oh Shit” she murmured to herself, knocking her mug over with instant coffee in. Sasha scraped it back into the cup flicking the last bits mainly on the floor. She poured the water in added another spoon of coffee and sat down at the breakfast table on a ridiculously stupid high stool.

Sasha looked at her magazine on the table. Take a Break, with an image of an overly healthy ludicrously young girl, spot free,  probably overpaid, spoilt and most definitely too thin. My husband is a murderer in big red writing on the front. Lose a stone in a week. Amazing abbs with our special spring workout. My dog knew I had cancer. All printed in bold framing the face of the girl who obviously wouldn’t know what a kebab was if it was thrown in her face.
How ridiculous she thought to herself. If only I had a husband, murderer or not, just alive would do!  Lose a stone in a week, yeah whatever, the only way I could lose a stone in a week is if I chewed off my feet and vomited my intestines out. As for my abbs Ha, just to see my juicy looking feet would be great!
Sasha slurped at her coffee and burnt some toast before grabbing her bag and looking in the microwave, the back of the sofa, fruit bowl, the tub of things on the windowsill and biscuit tin for her keys. They were in her jacket pocket of course.

Sasha is not fat, she has long dark hair, brown eyes and very long legs.  She measured her BMI and was told that she is a stone overweight.  Her BMI is fine but the graph on Tescos diets suggests she should lose a stone. It is a hideous way off making people feel fatter than they really are. Do the estimates again, knock half a stone off and you still have to lose a stone. Knock another stone off and yep, you still need to loose weight. “What a bloody cheek! I would need crutches to carry my bones around if I was that bloody skinny” She had said to herself one night online after consuming a whole box of malteasers.

Thats life though. You never can be thin enough, not for Tescos or its stupid ill fitting clothes, or the job you didn’t get or the man you still don’t have, or the girls in the click in the office. If you shedded your skin and emerged as a butterfly with just paper for wings and an antenna to probe life with, your arse would still look fat in those skinny jeans! Sasha threw the empty box on the floor and gulped the rest of her wine before nodding off to sleep and dreaming about butterflies and chocolate.

A bird flew into the window of her bedroom, it was motionless for a moment, it peered in seeing a duvet fly up and a woman emerge screaming. ” What the bloody hell is that!”  Sasha screached falling over herself to watch the bird slide down the window. She dressed into yesterdays trousers and pulled on a lycra white vest top, scrubbed her teeth with an over used toothbrush, and stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen. The wind was battering the house, she put the kettle on and gazed out of the kitchen window at the destruction.