Barb was unpacking the two bags of groceries she had picked up, on her way in from work. One of the bags

had contained a small bottle of laundry soap, a roll of paper towels - because certain people think they grow on trees.  She recalled, having mistakenly thinking she'd been lonely, how things lasted while living solitary; a roll of paper towels lasted...well actually, a few months.  Now she was buying them nearly every week.  While she wasn't one to bite her nails in the checkout line, she'd seen a program back in middle school about landfills; and that stuck...in drainage systems, especially after heavy storms.  The next item she pulled from the bag, had come as a pleasant surprise; of all places, she found the paperback in the grocery store's book and magazine section.  It was some 800 pages of corporate intrigue; the dep direc and one of the other sups were talking about it, the other week, before the staff meeting had gotten underway.  She glanced at the book's cover, then wrinkled her face.  Not tonight, she'd be on her laptop.  Overtime.  While rank-and-files could skate off at their shift's end, not so for management.  

"Ja get any chips?" The too familiar voice called from the livingroom, amid a muffled volley of bullets.  "No."  Without looking up, she pulled four apples, three nutri-bars, a head of cauliflower and a pound of burger from the remaining bag.  "Wha, why not?"  Doofus whined.  "Because I don't need to have that kind of stuff around."  Barb responded while opening up the burger package.  "Well, you don't have to eat them."

"Excuse me??"  Barb put out cold,  Doofus's gaslamp before any spark could catch.  Sure, she'd always been a sensative about her weight.  Strange, how, of all reasons to do something about it, took a rather unusual form.  

Some 1,900 square feet; more than what she wanted, but Barb didn't want to have to commute thirty miles, one way, for 1,400 sq.  She chuckled inwardly at the reactor's counter.  "The small bedroom would be handy for storage."  Never mind, the rancher had a full basement, with a bar - though Barb rarely drank.  And double never mind, she didn't have any storage...no wait, there was a three foot Christmas tree, and a few wicker baskets sitting in the ground floor storage cage, that came with each unit.

More house than she needed, still, it was a cute mid 1960s structure, in good repair, and the location meant only driving fiveish extra miles to work - on a country road that went by a mennonite-owned dairy and grocerette.  The yard was 2.5 acres, and had on it, a tall oak; near the other corner, a mulberry tree.  While the wooden shed was, somewhat ragged, a coat of paint would work just fine.  Inside, neatly hung a few tools and a lawn tractor, which looked as if it hadn't been used in awhile.  In the midst of the 15-footish enclosure, stood a half dilapidated picnic table;upon it, sat a chainsaw, and various parts.  The soon to be ex-owner was an elderly guy, who had decided - after slipping on some ice, while wrestling with a snowblower - it was time to move along.

Must inhale to be old, and no longer able to maintain things, Barb had pondered.  From what the man's son, or son-in-law, had been saying, the old man was stuck in rehab, and would likely have to end his days in a senior community.   So yeah - being no spring chicken, herself, Barb's decision to get the weight off, and keep it off, was because of a man.    Possessing a house meant rooms - a few more than she had planned - and a yard to keep up.  While her budget could support lawncare and snow removal service, the snow guys have other customers, and can't be at your place at 7am - when she's about ready to head to the office.