"Who are you calling 'lard ass', air-for-brains?" Lucile snapped.
"I'm calling you 'lard-ass', lard-ass, 'cause of your ass and all the lard it contains."
"Ashlin, come on--" Skye started.
"No, this is a public park bench, and that means I can say whatever I want to her and nobody can tell me otherwise," Ashlin said. "That's freedom of speech, right, lard ass?"
"And just what led you to this conclusion about my ass?"
"Are you kidding? You look like the freaking Pillsbury Dough Bitch," Ashlin sneered, poking Lucile in her distended middle. The chocolate-crammed girl burped queasily, blowing several bubbles of cocoa.
"That's my stomach, genius, not my ass."
"Yeah, well..." Ashlin frowned. "I still bet it's fat."
"It's not."
"I bet it looks like a couple of pink water balloons full of gravy."
"It doesn't!"
"Oh yeah? Prove it."
"Pfft. Screw you. Like I have anything to prove to you," Lucile said. "You're the one with a weight problem."
Ashlin crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll have you know I'm a size five, thank you very much. I'm just curvy."
"Curvy? Your front looks like two cantaloupes resting on a beanbag chair!"
"You're just lying to draw attention away from your ass," Ashlin accused. "It's fat as hell and you know you can't prove otherwise."
"Fine!" Lucile got to her feet, grunting with fullness, and bent over the park bench, displaying her scrawny rear end. "See? I--"
She felt Ashlin's boot catch her right between the cheeks, and sprawled forward against the bench, nearly losing all that chocolate. Both her knees were painfully skinned against the ground. She picked herself up and whirled just in time to see Ashlin retreating down the street, screaming with laughter.
"God dammit," Skye said. "I'm sorry about this, Lu--"
"Feel sorry for her," Lucile snarled. "I'm gonna wring her neck."
She took off after Ashlin as fast as she could manage. Normally she would have caught her easily--Ashlin wasn't really that athletic--but Lucile was in no state to be running. She was stuffed so full she could barely put one foot in front of the other. Agonizing stitches blossomed up and down her sides as she speed-waddled down the street. Within four blocks she had to give up. She sank to the ground, curled up in the fetal position, and moaned piteously.
After about thirty seconds, she heard a pair of footsteps approach her and then stop. Someone was right here, looking down on her. She cracked an eye to see who it was.
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