�She�s having a fun time in there,� I said.

�Who is?� asked Donna.

I inclined my casual yet extremely expensive and time-consuming blond hairdo towards the bathroom door, behind which the sounds of retching could clearly be heard.

�I�ve found that the best way to avoid bulimia,� I announced rather grandly, in a way calculated to impress Donna, �Is to avoid eating altogether.� And with that I swooped down over a small pile of white powder and snorted a line the size of a caterpillar up my perfectly contoured nostril. Years of snorting various elegant powders up my nostrils had left them curiously stiff, almost as though starched. Donna laughed at my bon mot.

�God, I KNOW,� said Donna, letting me kiss her gently on the upper lip and deftly lick her right nostril, where a small ring of powder had accumulated. �Bulimia is SO third-grade. Do you have any more monkey?�

The warm honey tones of Nat King Cole began to waft from the downstairs apartment. I could tell Donna felt unusually secure in Fanny�s little red bedroom. It seemed so safe there, and the smell of wrapping paper and exfoliants was so relaxing, as was her .7 blood alcohol content. She began to allow herself to believe, for one thrilling little moment, that Fanny and I might sincerely like her. This idea made her so happy, she nearly lost bladder control. Four bottles of tequila will do that to a person. I doubted she could feel her pubococcygeus muscle anymore.

At this moment, Fanny burst from the bathroom like a glamazon onto the catwalk. She strutted over to the bed, shifted her weight to one hip and stood there, looking fantastic. She�s radiant, I thought. I momentarily dropped my painstakingly acquired expression of boredom and mild disgust and accidentally gazed at her with undisguised and genuine admiration.

�Monkey?� asked Donna.

�No thanks,� said Fanny, tossing her hair and shifting her weight to the other leg.

I have never been able to pull off bulimia like Fanny�the constant pressurization of my face had caused tiny blood vessels to burst and little red dots to appear. My skin always turned sallow and my eyes red. I both hate and idolize Fanny, and whenever she emerges from the bathroom, so fresh, the skin of her chest and face seeming to glow with a post-orgasmic flush, shiny-eyed and tussle-haired and her pajama bottoms hanging just so off her elegant and fashionable pelvis, green bile in my stomach begins to churn.

�Let�s play truth or dare!� squealed Donna, hugging a stuffed monkey pillow to her chest in puppyish excitement.

�OK,� said Fanny, sitting herself delicately on the bed, and Donna realized she really was about to piss herself and giddily squirmed into the bathroom.

�Isn�t she just SO pathetic,� I offered generously.

�I guess.� Fanny looked bored. Not a good thing. I felt compelled to entertain her, which was most easily done by verbally shitting on Donna.

�I hate it when she gets sloppy, and she�s just so� embarrassingly enthusiastic. I can�t take her anywhere. And all that liquor? It�s making her fat,� I added, which was true. �Haven�t you noticed? Her legs are actually starting to touch at the top. It�s revolting. There�s a lot more calories in alcohol than people think.�

�Whatever,� said Fanny, and slapped my face hard for the first time.

I sat down and put my hand to my burning cheek.

I sat in a crumpled daze at Fanny�s feet and listened to the faraway tinkle of Donna in the bathroom. I felt the blood rushing to my face and chest, and my eyes filled with hot tears. The soft glow of epiphany surrounded me and I swooned. Me too! I thought to myself, ecstatic. I�m radiant too!

I had a Christmas vision. I was orbiting a sugarplum Fanny in a cinnamon ellipse, while at the same time being orbited by chestnut Donna in a snickerdoodle ellipse, all of us covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, coming close to each other, licking each other�s shoulders, getting further away, biting each other�s backs. The mathematical precision and grace of my vision overwhelmed me, pushed that one little salty tear over the lip of my eyelid, and it slid erratically down my cheek, following its own chaotic little course.

It all faded to nothing as the heat subsided from my face and my sinuses cleared themselves. Fanny had lit a cigarette and Donna came out of the bathroom. �Fanny, truth or dare!�

�Dare.� Fanny rolled her eyes.

�Dare,� repeated Donna. �Dare, dare. Tiffy, help me think of a dare.�

I looked at Fanny. �I dare you to hit me again,� I said, and closed my eyes.