Dietro Casa

A guy shows up unexpectedly, and after a series of shitting bouts while he's in the other room, she faints from dehydration. Only to wake to him leaning over her with a double bacon cheeseburger with full garden or something. Extra mustard. In the end, Cheeseburger Charming saves the day, that day at least. 

And I thought it was a good read at the time. Melancholy and a little too intimate for complete comfort moving around her bathroom with her. I just knew too much. Simple as that. The things she was telling me aught not to know, the grotesque extracurriculars a woman develops to maintain a false since of control in her life basically. Was this the control side of anorexia? The control? At the time, laxatives didn't mean more than laxatives. Out of all the stories I read in college, this one stuck with me. I don't know why but the more I think about the story the more angry I get. What a cop-out.  What a bunch of shit. The description of the man in damn near motion detector dazzling diamonds and a smile that gives a hazy soft focus to everything except the contours of his face, his jaw line, how strong and perfect, not a crack in its foundation -who just happens to be in the neighborhood, who just happens to knock on the door and magically saves the protagonist in the passage of 5 hours.  And the protagonist, wonder-eyed  and half blown out  from the hearse light coming from behind the couch, sits up-right, and from the other side of the room a scene of someone gathering their barrings. How lovely we think. Then rushes, a video camera following a bee into her ear,  the panic motion of bending down - so many fields this little one has, here and here and over here - fields of the reddest raspberries that keep raining from her hands.