FATIMA'S REVENGE

Fatima Wheedlewaxer is not one of the popular girls in her classes at school. Her body is hardly the Barbie doll, perfectly shaped hour-glass type. She may be packing more weight than necessary but she’s not especially fat, sort of pleasantly plump or Rubenesque. Nor is she pretty, more the “plain-Jane” variety. However, like most teenage girls, whether they are drop-dead gorgeous or lean as a beanpole, for some reason or another they always believe they are overweight—the media, celebrities and models are perhaps to blame. She used to really like her first name when she was a little girl because it sounded so pretty, even exotic. But now, she’s come to hate it because she would occasionally hear some of the prettier girls whisper behind her back, “There goes Fatty-Fatima or Fatso-Wheedlewaxer.” At first, she tried ignoring the cruel comments but sometimes they hurt so much, she would rush into a washroom stall, lock the door behind her and then bawl her eyes out, which only made her face blotchy and redder than usual.

Fatima couldn’t understand why some of the girls hated her, especially since she was an A-student in all her courses and would often help some of them with their homework, even let them look at her answers during a test, so they could copy them. And maybe that was it, they were jealous because she was so smart. They may have been pretty, but she had the brains

One of the courses, which Fatima really excelled at, was Home Economics—she was by far the best baker in the class, if not the entire school. None of the girls teased her then, because they liked to eat her scrumptious and mouthwatering courses, especially when it involved baking—her pastries were to die for.

Being continually picked on and not having any friends was unbearable for Fatima and she was surprised that because she was always so anxious, nervous and on edge at school, she didn’t lose any weight. She had tried dieting but being overweight was in her genes—both her mom and dad were a couple of roly-polies. Actually, she had to admit, the whole family was overweight including her pet Pekinese dog, she looked like a fuzzy oblong fur-ball with popsicle sticks for legs.

Fatima seldom watched TV because most of the actresses, even if they were old, were still slim and, if they happened to be packing a few extra pounds, the weight was always dispersed in all the right places, which was considered voluptuous. However, one evening, after she had finished studying, she came across a TV program called This is Us and one of the female leading stars was overly obese. Chrissy Metz became her heroine overnight because she couldn’t believe how attractive, intelligent, sensitive, and thoughtful the actress was, which she considered herself to be, well…maybe not the attractive attribute. She knew Chrissy was playing a role, but she would have had to win that role over many other aspiring actresses. When she read about Metz’s struggle with her weight ever since she was as young as Fatima, it gave her courage and determination that she could do anything she put her mind to.

However, after watching the evening episode and still feeling confident from the actress’ portrayal of Kate Pearson in the morning, when she went to school, as soon as she entered her classroom, she was soon right back to her miserable self. If only she could lose weight as easily as she lost her self-esteem. As she wedged herself into her seat, she heard a girl snicker behind her back and then whisper, “Look at fat-ass. The only job she’ll ever be any good at, is a paperweight,” and the classroom roared with laughter. Pretending she hadn’t heard the comment, Fatima made up her mind then; no more being a goody two shoes, one day your asses will be mine.

School dragged on at a snail’s pace, until it was only two weeks away from summer vacation. The majority of the final exams were written, but the Home Economic course was a hands-on baking project. The instructor, Mrs. Standish, skinny as a toothpick and wrinkled like an old prune, told the students that they would have to bake a chocolate cake and decorate it using their own recipe for full marks. Fatima couldn’t help smiling and had to stop herself from laughing as she listened to the requirements. She promised herself this was one test she was going to ace, even if it meant failing.

Finally, the last day of school had arrived and it was one of the hottest of the year. Although Fatima knew the sweat would be pouring out of her, she was really looking forward to baking a chocolate cake and she was going to make it triple size because she wanted it to tower over the others. Although the school supplied most of the supplies, she had brought some of her own special ingredients from home, which she was certain would add flavor and enhance the cake’s beauty. She wanted this cake to be extraordinary, one that would always be remembered, a real standout, perhaps even talked about after she had graduated.

When all the students were present in the Home Economics’ classroom, Fatima smiled at the same girls that had made her life miserable and then silently mouthed the words “Good luck.” Some of the girls rolled their eyes and wondered, “What’s with her?”

As soon as Mrs. Standish yelled, “Go!” and the students began pouring flour, cracking eggs and adding other ingredients into their big bowls she went from one student to the next checking on their recipes to make sure they were as original as possible, not something they had plagiarized from a Betty Crocker cookbook.

Fatima had tied her long brunette hair into a bun and wrapped a pretty red cloth with white daisies printed on it around her head, in order to keep the sweat from dripping off her brow. When Mrs. Standish finished reading her recipe, she smiled and then said, “Interesting. Your cake is larger than required, are you sure it will be baked in time?”

“Oh yes. At least I hope so,” Fatima replied.

As the teacher moved on to the next student, Fatima reached into her apron pocket and emptied a dozen small blue and white packages of chocolate into a bowl, which already contained different types of chocolate. In her estimation, the icing was the best part of the cake. She was so happy as she stirred the pieces of melting chocolate in the sauce pan that she couldn’t help humming, “If I Knew You Were Coming I’d have Baked a Cake,” and then she laughed, Mrs. Standish giving her a scornful look.

Most of the students made double-layer chocolate cakes but true to her word, Fatima had managed three-layers. As she trimmed away some of the cake so that all three layers were exactly even, she was very pleased with its texture, moisture, and taste. So far so good she thought as she began lathering the cake with thick dark chocolate icing and then creating white chocolate swirls across the top by squeezing an icing dispenser. As she glanced around at the other cakes, she could tell that some had failed miserably. Of course, she couldn’t be positive, but she was certain that hers was the best presentation.

As Mrs. Standish went from one cake to the next, she wrote down some remarks on pieces of paper attached to a plastic clipboard. When she arrived at Fatima’s chocolate cake she smiled and then said, “I can’t wait to taste it.”

Fatima gulped at the teacher’s remark and wondered if she had gone too far. Too late for that she thought.

When Mrs. Standish had checked all the student’s chocolate cakes and sat down at her desk she said, “Now that I’ve seen your presentations, it’s time for the taste test. Keep in mind though, it’s not all about taste. It’s important that your cake keeps its shape when cut, doesn’t break apart or crumble and that it’s not too moist or dry, etc. So, if you will each cut me a slice of chocolate cake and bring it up to my desk, along with your name, I’ll get on with it. Oh, and while I’m doing that, you can have a taste of each other’s cake and tell me which one you like best.”

Fatima, like the rest of the students, went from one cake to the next, each taking a bite, but it was easy to see which one the students came back to for more than one big slice. Mrs. Standish had noticed as well and after licking her lips from eating a piece of Fatima’s cake she said, “It certainly looks as if Fatima’s chocolate cake rocks. Save me another piece.”

The other student’s chocolate cakes had barely been touched but Fatima’s hardly had a crumb left; one girl was licking the remainder of the icing off the plate. Mrs. Standish said, “Looks like we’re all in favour who baked the best chocolate cake but that doesn’t mean that everyone else’s is a failure. No, there are…” and unable to continue speaking her thoughts, she suddenly grasped her stomach and then let out a loud fart, which the whole class could clearly hear. “Oh dear!” she exclaimed as she ran from the classroom clutching the cheeks of her bum tightly in her hands.

Everyone was laughing uproariously, that is, until they too had to make a run for the washroom. Oh, oh, Fatima thought and then burst into laughter, the vivid visual and sound effects of Mrs. Standish and her classmates all together in the washroom farting and crapping themselves were too much for her to contain. The twelve boxes of “ex-lax” had done the trick. And as she thought about her teacher who had always treated her nicely, she muttered, “Nah! Old Mrs. Standish is going to flunk me anyway,” and then, laughing loudly, tears streaming down her cheeks, she left the classroom, walked through the halls and out the school door.