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Lose 40 Pounds in 80 Days

King Henry the Eighth had nothing on Elmer the First, Fat Boy of the Forties.

I ate like a horse, and when they put the a la carte in front of the horse I knew what to do with it. I dined with the best and gained such skill that I could glance at a 36-inch menu in the hands of an impatient waiter and order a $30 meal quicker'n you could say, "This one's on me!"

Waiters smiled, headwaiters grew heady and chefs shimmied with joy when Elmer came to town!

Oysters Rockefeller, Shrimp Arnaud - just to start off the meal in true Boomtime Style.

Then steak Marchand de yin, or Stroganoff - or just "back yard" style - but always two inches thick off the heaviest steer, and done rare, oh, so rare. The true fat boy's delight.

Maybe some mushrooms from the caves under Paris where they grow best; or famed Baltimore terrapin with sherry; or escargots or turkey mole, Mexico City. Perhaps rainbow trout in Brown Palace manner, or yellow rice and chicken as served in Ybor City.

Then side orders; a giant Idaho baked, scrubbed and rubbed, loaded with "four pieces of butter, please."

Head lettuce smothered in Thousand Island dressing with neat hunks of roquefort; no vinegar for us fatties.

Some English lime marmalade-arid nuts from Brazil. Big 50-calorie ones.

Peas creamed; corn creamed; spinach creamed!

Cherries Jubilee, camembert, cheddar, some Marie Brizard, and all topped off with a long Bering, plaza size, from the bonded warehouse of Corral Wodiska y Ca. of Tampa.

Even Riley coined an expression about me. "What I'd like to do sometime," he sighed wistfully, "is live the Life of Wheeler!"


THEN IT HAPPENED

My neckband, once a sweet 16, went to a tight 17.

Well, that didn't worry me. I just took this as proof that wartime shirts weren't shrinkproof like the prewar ones had been. I didn't need to lose weight.

I went into a shirt store to complain about it. A fancy clerk measured the neckband on my shirt and assured me it hadn't shrunk, and that I was now a neat 18!

"You'll find size 18 in the Fat Men's Department," he said, daintily pointing the way with a well-manicured finger.

I was halfway there before the full force of what he had said struck me. I did a slow burn!

Me, old Muscles Elmer, former athlete at the "Y," Eagle Scout, shunted off to the Fat Men's Dept.

Cursed by calories! Exile for Elmer, that's what it was!


MY PRIDE IS HURT

I felt ashamed.

My pride was hurt - me, being sent off in such a telltale direction!

I felt guilty. Suppose my friends saw me going there?

Suppose some snappy-looking salesgirl walked by on her way to the Employees' Lounge and forgot to look away before she got one of those grins on her face?

All life left me. My walk, or rather wobble - I can't bring myself to say waddle - slowed down.

I just couldn't go to that Fat Men's Department.

My feet dragged. I slowed down to a shuffle. I stepped up to a candy machine and got myself a hunk of chewy nut bar.

I went over to the soda fountain and doused my burning face in a chocolate soda, with two scoops of French chocolate ice cream.

The fellow next to me was munching a hamburger. This reminded me that I hadn't had a hamburger all day, so I had two of them, cheeseburger style, to bolster up my empty thoughts.

I topped this off with a root beer, got a bag of peanuts to take away the sweet taste, and left the store.

I was so ashamed I almost lost my appetite . . . almost. But still, no serious thoughts about how to lose weight.



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