Lulu - 7 - Fatso and the Blonde


A Dark Comedy About Mistaken Identity

Chapter 7 - Fatso and the Blonde

by Lulu Martine

I gave up trying to figure it all out. The insanity of the situation seemed to weigh me down, I couldn’t have thought my way out of an elevator without someone else to push the buttons.

And I stopped getting much co-operation. No laptop, no cellphone and when my attempts at mime and charades got annoying, Alice turned on the TV. Daytime soap operas are druglike enough but the nurse came in every two or three hours with some real drugs.

No one said anything more about going home tomorrow. The nurse put an IV in my other arm and strapped both of them down to boards where I effectively could not use them at all.

Two doctors came in and started talking to Alice, though they all glanced at me now and then. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, Alice put the television headphones on me and I felt as if I had fallen again into a dream.

It was even worse when the TV channel got stuck on a Spanish language station. I couldn’t understand more than one word in five though I could sort of follow the stories in a broad way. I lost track of what was happening in the room. The drugs, the sounds I could not understand and a feeling of isolation made it easy to slip into a sort of trance.

There was one show, a kind of comedy variety slapstick thing, the title translated as “Fatso and the Blonde”, I think. It was obvious which of the characters was which. The fat guy looked sort of like every fat Mexican stereotype you’ve ever seen and the blonde was more of the same, sexy and ditzy in tight clothes and flashy jewelry.

She was really overbuilt, too, with her bosom on display and frequent turning away from the camera to waggle her butt. A laugh track, or maybe a studio audience, cued me in to which parts were supposed to be funny but really, if it would not have hurt my throat.

A peculiar thing began to happen. I started to identify with the blonde. I imagined how it would be to have everyone stare at my tits. And be able to distract guys like Fatso with just a hip wiggle and a smile. He kept running into doors and stepping on rakes when he turned to look at her.

Would I look like that when the bandages came off? All curves and smiles and winks, Lili, that was her name, acted like an empty-headed bimbo but she seemed to be enjoying herself.

And that got me to thinking. Would I be able to live and be happy with what had happened to me? I didn’t think anyone could change me back and that would involve more operations and pain and would I want to go through this again? Just to be an imitation of a man?

Another show came on, a news program. I recognized some of the news stories continuing from English language broadcasts I had seen before but some of the others were just noise. All but one of the newswomen on the show was blonde. Again, I found myself identifying with them instead of the guys.

Pretty women, all of them. Alice had said that Lulu wanted to be beautiful. Would I be beautiful? Would that matter? Would it be easier to adapt to being a girl if I could be a beautiful one?

Or was that just a crazy thought?

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This story is 604 words long.