The Finger of Blame

...In which the suspects are assembled.

"You don't," Jane informs me, "actually have time for this."

The Circus has assembled in the library to hear preliminary notes on the case, with much speculation - and trepidation - though Eppy is bouncing in her seat excitedly. "A game, a game, a game!" she chortles happily. She gazes around the room. We are waiting, as usual, for Cindee. The Professor is tinkering with the Machine in the corner, muttering about macronutrients. Zoe stares determinedly out a window. Xena appears to be doing walking lunges across some Persian rugs.

Jane continues, reading from a list she's brought along. "Your tomorrow is packed - you need to investigate those Northwestern classes you should be taking, and also finish the webinar for work before next week, but you can't do that before you make those calls in the morning.  Also, they called a lunch meeting on your proposal for website redesign.  Also, you agreed to get to Home Depot today for the Professor, and do some job hunting, and you have boot camp at 5:30 a.m...you really should have taken care of most of this today, but Zoe insisted on a nap."

"Hey! I was tired!" protests the napper, as the assembled groan with irritation.

"That's okay, honey, teenagers need more sleep than most of us," Constance says comfortingly, smoothing her cardigan and apparently missing Zoe's baleful glare.

"Can we pick this up, please?" Cindee strolls in, rumpled and in pajama shorts. "I'm expecting a text from that Ryan dude from last week."

"A handsome devil," agrees Constance.
"Dumb as a bag of hammers," corrects Zoe.
"Dumb doesn't bother me much,"  Cindee smirks, at which Zoe colors slightly.
"He plays football! He has the smallest waist I've ever seen on a boy!" Eppy reminds us, wonderingly.

I call the meeting to order.



"We are here to determine which of you, alone or in partnership, are responsible for this....this...heinous deed. Would any of you like to offer an explanation as to how things have gotten this bad? Where has all this extra Astrid come from? And, importantly, how will we make it disappear?"

Silence settles.

Zoe snorts.

"You have something to contribute, Zoe?" Jane asks.

"Yeah - this is LAME. What kind of mystery is this? I'll tell you what happened - you were BORN HUGE. What HAPPENED is that you're a GIANT named FATIMA from the planet GARGANTUA. Your grandma was fat, your dad was fat, fat runs in your blood.  YOU ARE DESTINED TO BE FAT. Clear enough for you, Sherlock?"

"Now Zoe," Constance admonishes, "We prefer "big-boned" or "husky"..."

"Prefer whatever you want. In the real world it's called GENETICS. It's not like you've ever been skinny. What makes you think you even can be? You're built like a frickin linebacker." Zoe lifts her chin and stares down the Circus, daring them to disagree.

The Professor chimes in. "It's true that, empirically, you haven't been consistently under 180 since approximately age 17, and not under 175 at all with the exception of trips to third-world countries where you rapidly and unhealthily lost an average of 25 lbs per month, per trip, over 4 trips."

The Circus and I turn to stare at her.

"Well, it's true," she repeats, a little defensively. "Zoe's an irritating troll, but she has a point - has a crime even been committed?"

"Okay," I say reluctantly. "It bears observation. Anyone else?"

Xena strides into the center of the room. "I would speak."
The room erupts in annoyance. "Can it, Drama Queen!" Cindee shouts.
Zoe pretends to vomit and ostentatiously starts flipping through a Cosmo.
"Just TALK, Xena. You're not in the Senate," Jane intervenes.

Xena takes an oratorical breath. "How this occurred is irrelevant. What is relevant is fixing the problem, and I believe YOU ALL are the problem.  You aren't TRYING TO ACHIEVE. Your focus is for CRAP. To lose this extra Astrid, you need to lift weights; to lift weights you need to push yourself. And to push yourself you need some DISCIPLINE, some COURAGE, and some HEART..."

"..and maybe the wizard can get you a brain," Zoe inserts.

"..and maybe the wizard can get you laid, crabass," Cindee silkily follows.

"Girls! Please! The child?" Constance murmurs, laying a protective arm around Eppy. Eppy looks confusedly up at her, then at me. "It's not very fun, your game," she announces, frowning.

"How do you mean, Eppy?" I ask her.

"Everyone is so mad. Maybe if everyone wasn't so mad, then they would play more and it would be fun again, and then the extra part would just go away?" she ends hopefully.

Feet are shuffled and throats cleared, but no one says anything. Zoe has her arms crossed over her head and her eyes squeezed shut in agony.

Eventually, I turn to the Professor again. "How long has it been since the Machine has been operational?"

::THE MACHINE IS ALWAYS OPERATIONAL:: replies the Machine, startling us all.

"It can talk for itself, if given a direct question," the Professor informs us. "It might not give the answer you expect, but she's working."

"Okay then, er, Miss Machine - what have you been doing?" I ask.
"Yeah, Mac - what have you done for us lately?" Cindee seconds.

::SATURDAY, JULY 19, 2014, THE MACHINE WATCHED APPROXIMATELY 21 EPISODES, SEASON THREE, "VERONICA MARS", ON THE WB ONLINE IN ONE 24-HOUR PERIOD. DURING THIS TIME, THE MACHINE CONSUMED NO FEWER THAN 7 CARBONATED BEVERAGES, AND ALSO CONSUMED ONE ENTIRE RECIPE OF UNCOOKED CHOCOLATE BROWNIE BATTER, FOLLOWED BY A LARGE...FOLLOWED BY AN ENORMOUS BOWL OF BUTTERED POPCORN, AND WENT TO SLEEP APPROXIMATELY 20 MINUTES BEFORE DAWN. :: The Machine turns a blank gaze on me, and I feel a chill from this mindless recitation. It continues

::ALSO, JULY 20, 2014, THE MACHINE PARTICIPATED IN ONE HOUR OF BOOTCAMP FOLLOWED BY A 90 MINUTE WALK ON A GYM TREADMILL, AVERAGING 15 MINUTE MILES AT ELEVATIONS AVERAGING 4% GRADE. THE MACHINE DID THIS DESPITE HAVING ONLY FUELED ON A NUTRITIONAL SHAKE FROM TARGET AND OBTAINING NO MORE THAN FOUR HOURS OF SLEEP::

Constance interrupts: "And how was that shake, dear? I've been meaning to try those..."

After a pause, The Machine responds; ::THE MACHINE FOUND THE NUTRITIONAL SHAKE FROM TARGET TO BE STRANGELY DELICIOUS::

"Protein," The Professor says excitedly. "I suspect The Machine has been lacking protein and eating too much carbohydrate. And simple sugars have definitely been a major problem in past clinical trials!"


"Oh my god, it's called CHOCOLATE MILK, of course it's delicious," Zoe complains. "Who tries to lose weight by drinking chocolate milk??  Arrrgh!"

Cindee yawns and stretches, and stands up. "This is getting dull. My theory? You got so sucked away by these idiotic and pointless years  of grad school that you forgot it was worthwhile to have a body that can DO things. Live a little, jeez! Go hike Kilimanjaro or something. Take a dance class!"

"Pole dancing, perhaps," muses Zoe pointedly. Cindee continues, "Whatever, the point is you workout so you look GOOD, sister! As soon as you find some time for fun in your life again, you'll remember what it's all about. Free your schedule, and your ass will follow!" she shouts, as she jumps up on the couch and start sing-yelling the lyrics to George Michael's "Faith."

WELL I GUESS IT WOULD BE NICE!
IF I COULD TOUCH YOUR BODY!
I KNOW NOT EVERYBODY
HAS GOT A BODY LIKE YOU....OOOOH!

Eppy joins her, giggling and waving her tiny hands. Constance suppresses a smile and even the Professor joins in on the chorus. Xena roars her approval, stomping a tree-like leg.

Jane gazes levelly at me. "You've lost them for the evening."

"That's okay," I sigh. "We've made some progress. And I have to get up at - what time again?"

"5:00 am, if you're going to make that morning spin class," Jane replies, stacking some papers on the desk and flicking imaginary dust particles off the leather blotter. "Also, don't even think about deferring the gym until after work - you need to get to City Hall for parking passes and you've promised to go out with your co-workers for a birthday tonight, and you know there's no coming back from that."

"Awesome, Jane. Thanks SO much for your help."

"Anytime." And she sweeps out of the room, leaving me surrounded by a pack of dancing maniacs...and Zoe, who is sidling along the outside wall to make her escape, mouthing, "Good luck with that, Sherlock!" at me, and flipping me the bird.