“Whoa, fella, don’t you think it might be time to call it a night? You’re hitting the buffet line pretty hard.”
I turn, a fistful of shrimp dangling over my plate. Denise is giving me the hairy eyeball and looking meaningfully at my selections. I discreetly replace the ladle of pasta salad with my trunk, and do my best to make the shrimp look smaller.
“What? This is only my second trip,” I lie, trying to look innocent.
“Third, big guy. Trust me, I’ve been counting.” Denise plants her fists on her hips like she’s just caught me cheating on her. “I thought you were going to stick to The Steps.” She references the canonical Six Steps for Dealing with Overeating. Other addictions have double that number, I know, but we try to minimize the opportunities to cheat with snacks. Fidgeting now, I try not to think about how far I’m setting myself back.
“Oh, uh, I guess I lost count,” I stammer out the lame excuse. It’s crap and Denise knows it. But she plays along, because she’s a good friend.
“Alright, well that’s why we get each other’s backs, right?” She shows me a smile like a lion on the savanna – I’m caught good. “Now hand over those little crustaceans.” My shrimp go on an empty plate she just happens to have ready. “And next, those kebabs.” I take the plate of fruit skewers off my tusks. “And don’t try tucking the gulab jamun away, I see that trunk!”
“Aw, Denise, but they’re my favorite!” I keep my trunk curled away, unwilling to surrender the syrupy dough balls.
“Well then, tonight you’re gonna forgo.” She struggles to reach around my gray bulk to reach the dessert.
“Elephants never forgo!” I trumpet, making a scene.
“Stop that,” she swats at me, “that’s not the saying, and you know it.” Finally, she succeeds in grabbing the last of my food. So I pout.
“It’s my saying.”
“Not tonight. Let’s go dance.”