The very first time I mentioned her to Mom I almost said, “Have you seen that Big Fat Bonnie woman?” And once when I was riding my bike and passed her getting into her car (a totally surprising dark blue VW Beetle, about half the car necessary for such a person), I just about shouted, “Hey, Big Fat Bonnie!” It wasn’t as if I didn’t have experience with plump women, some of it in my own home. But there was something about Bonnie that wasessentially large. I didn’t know what it was until she and Mom became friends. I came home from school one day and there she was, sitting in our living room. She was wearing a pink polyester top that zipped up the front, and white polyester pants. The outfit, along with her piled-up blond hair, made her look like an enormous ice cream sundae, with strawberries. “Well, I’ll be &*@! if I can’t teach you how to drive, and I will, too, you can bet your &*@!” Bonnie was saying. “No man would keep ME from driving a car, forget it!
