“We’re heading for a welcoming feast at the city hall, in Petit Paris. That’s the nickname for the capital city here in New France,” the driver explained. Her advisor leaned to her.
“It’s customary in New France to have a feast to celebrate whenever there’s a special event. Birthdays, coronations, festivals, new moons, old moons, Sundays, eclipses – all such days warrant a feast.”
Kyra blinked, suddenly understanding.
“Oh, so that’s why everyone’s so fat?”
The advisor looked a little taken aback.
“Ah- well, it’s certainly a contributing factor…” he muttered, “I would advise you not to go throwing that word around though. People here can be touchy; mentioning someone’s weight, or especially implying that someone has gained weight, is a major faux-pas here.”
“Oh,” Kyra said, feeling a little uncomfortable, “I’ll, um, try not to do that I guess.”
“Well, you are the queen, Your Majesty – or at least you will be after your coronation next month. You may, of course, call people what you like; but maintaining your popularity with the upper class, at least, is vital to remaining in power,” her advisor hesitated, “There is, ah, a matter along those lines that I must discuss with you. I was planning on bringing it up later, but now is as good a time as any. It’s about the former heir to the throne, Princess Grace…”
He hesitated again and Kyra watched him curiously, chewing on yet another delicious candy, until he continued.
“Well, your discovery was not popular with everyone. Princess Grace was in line to be the next queen, and though she isn’t much loved by the public, she was at least a safe bet. You, Your Majesty, are a mystery, and you may find certain members of the elite – those who would have enjoyed the stability of Princess Grace on the throne – to be prejudiced against you.”
Kyra’s expression must have alarmed him, because he hastened quickly to continue.
“Don’t worry too much about it, Your Majesty – you are in no danger at all, do not panic. It’s just something worth keeping in mind.”
Kyra nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. She popped a handful of candies into her mouth to distract her from all this news, and was a little dismayed to find that the bowl was now empty.
“I’d also refrain from having too much candy before the feast,” her advisor suggested, “It’s customary in New France to eat a lot at meals. In fact, failing to clear your plate is another major social embarrassment.”
Kyra smiled a little at this.
“Don’t worry, I can eat more than you’d think.”
“I have completely confidence in you,” her advisor nodded, “But it is worth bearing in mind.”
“Are there are other, um, flow-pass I should remember?” Kyra inquired.
“The expression is ‘faux-pas’, Your Majesty. Well – there are a fair few, actually. Always clean your plate at a feast; never mention someone’s weight; never mention the war; bring a gift to every occasion – usually some regional culinary delicacy, but your kitchens will deal with that so you needn’t worry; never admit that you’re full at a meal, that’s an insult to the chef. There are many more, but don’t worry – I will bring them up when they become appropriate,” her advisor assured her.
They were entering the city proper now, and Kyra looked out of the window at the people as they sped through the streets. Again, almost everyone she saw was incredibly overweight – especially the women. They stopped at a red light, and a woman crossed the road with two young girls trotting behind her. All three were massively overweight, their bodies bulging and wobbling as they made their way slowly across the road, sweat dripping down their faces from the exertion of walking. The red light seemed to take forever, and Kyra wondered if they were extra long to allow all the overweight people time to get across.
The advisor had been watching her stare at the obese family, and once the car had started moving again he gave a little sigh.
“I suppose I should probably explain our country’s, ah… ‘weight problem’,” he acknowledged, “Obesity in New France is spectacularly high – especially for women and young girls. The overall rate is 76 percent, but for women it is 91 – and for young girls, 99. It’s just in our culture to pamper women, and especially little girls, with treats and gifts at every occasion. The rate for men is a little under 50 percent; still extremely high, but not quite so bad due to a mandatory service in the armed forces for 18-21 year old males which ensures they stay slim for those few years at least.”
“Why not just introduce prescription for girls, too?” Kyra interjected, frowning.
“We tried, Your Majesty,” her advisor replied, “But by the time they’re eighteen, most girls are already so obese that the strenuous exercise of the army – not to mention the cost of housing and feeding them – was utterly prohibitive.”
There was a pause, then Kyra spoke.
“W-wait, did you say ninety-nine percent of girls are obese?” she stammered, suddenly processing the information.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the advisor nodded gravely, “Ninety-nine point four percent, to be more accurate. Out of every two-hundred girls under the age of eighteen, perhaps two would be of a healthy weight. It’s a major medical concern for the nation.”
Kyra gaped. 99.4 percent! That was insane. Then again, if they had feasts as often as the advisor said they did, perhaps it was a little more understandable.
Before she could formulate a response, the limousine had slowed to a halt, and the driver was speaking.
“We’re here, Your Highness; the Town Hall. There’s a dressing room waiting inside for you, so that you can prepare for the feast. It is due to begin in two hours, so you have plenty of time to prepare.”
There was another crowd waiting outside as the door opened, and she did her best to smile and wave again before she was hurried into the building. She spotted a fair few slim men in the crowd as she passed, but of the women, she could only spot one who looked a pound under two-hundred. The advisor hadn’t been exaggerating.
Once she was inside the building, she was hastened straight to her dressing room. The advisor opened the door for her and she stumbled inside, almost colliding with…”
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