Responsive BMI Calculator

The Thursday night “Shut Up and Sober Up” group holds a speaker meeting at 8 p.m. in the basement of the Holier Than Thou Baptist Church on the corner of State and Oak Streets. The people who open the meeting set up the metal folding chairs in a semicircle so that we attendees have no choice but to spend the hour under the harsh fluorescents examining the wear on each other’s faces. Pete looks decent, considering he’s died and been resuscitated twice in the last two years. Nancy looks like hitting the gym and taking vitamin supplements are her new addictions. Good for her. I’m still covering a multitude of sins with cream foundation and medical alert red lipstick. Clara is sitting across from me, shifting in her chair, causing it to squeak and groan like a choirboy with laryngitis. She keeps on checking the pockets of her ripped jeans and threadbare flannel shirt, and looking at the floor next to her chair like she thinks she set down a purse there. But Clara came in here with nothing more than the rest of us did—an abiding sense that she mislaid her life somewhere.