Elsie was in such a rut. Doomscrolling was her go-to activity. Things changed with an e-mail. She’d won a weekend at a luxury spa. She woke in a fancy hotel, took a yoga class, and had donuts for breakfast with her personal trainer.
The girl finished her yogurt. “Any trouble spots?”
Her tummy, always her tummy. The mound that amplified her waist had expanded recently. “I want a flatter stomach.”
”You’re a stress eater.”
“How could you tell?”
The trainer said, “Your T-shirt.”
It said, “Hands off my junk food, you fascist.”
“We’ll start with your social media. Then, pilates.”
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 