Wendy the Black Hole

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there spun a sweet but very shy black hole named Wendy. Although she was always charming and fun in her imaginary conversations – casually wise, with the easy charisma of a comet and the wry wit of an intelligent-life-bearing planet – she was painfully self-conscious, for one particular reason.

Wendy was a young black hole – just a baby, really. She had been nothing more than a star only 25,000,000,000,076 years ago, by the Spooble calendar. But as a baby, she was still very much stuck with her… well… baby fat. Wendy was enormous. More than enormous. Her width was commonly measured in the number of Flidget lifespans that it would take to even conceive of how large she was. She had overheard, on more than one occasion, perfectly respectable scientists refer to her as “Supermassive.” And that just hurt.

She had tried dieting (there was this new fad that suggested avoiding any and all potassium, zirconium, ununpentium, and – of course – tin), but who in Stephen W. Hawking’s name can completely cut out tin? She had tried calisthenics (once, she spent an entire weekend diligently forcing herself to spin counterclockwise), until she realized that doing so was causing the very fabric of the universe to unravel into scorching, matterless chaos, and also it gave her some awful cramps. She had even tried self-hypnosis (staring into the distant, mesmerizing spirals of the NGC5457 galaxy and repeating the mantra “thin it to win it” over and over), but she consistently found her gaze drawn to NGC5457’s central black hole, Jessica. That skinny bitch.

Eventually, Wendy was forced to concede that this was just a stage she was going through. A 730,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 Spooble-year-long stage. But soon enough, it would be over, and Wendy would be the trim, sexy, confident black hole that she always knew she was, deep, deep inside. In the meantime she would continue having imaginary conversations, to keep her social skills sharp, and to prove that she still had it. Well hello there, Mister Pulsar. You look positively radiant tonight. Notice anything… different… about me?