
1. Lush, voluptuous: the richest or best part  of anything. 
   
    Eyes  like pounamu washed in the river and the things she said, the way she said  them, the fact she said them to him. You’re wonderful he replied and it might  have been true. But when they lay under the duck-down duvet and the possums  ranged over the iron roof and the wind started up, it wasn’t her lovely eyes or  her lovely personality he wanted to stroke. His hands charted a journey from  hip to hip, feeling the soft folds of flesh, learning her latitude and  longitude.
   
  2. Corpulent, obese: a fat person.
   
    I’ve  hired the yacht and laid on provisions, he said. Five suckling pigs, ten sacks  of sugar, a crate of Coke. That should do but if we get bored or upset or we’re  feeling particularly happy, there’s the emergency packet of boiled lollies in  the hold. Here’s the map; the route’s piped on in royal icing so we can lick it  off as we go. I thought we’d sail north to the Island of Too-Many-Sausages and  then east to Lasagne Atoll. With the right wind it’ll take just three months to  circumnavigate your girth.
   
  3. Adipose tissue: a white or yellowish greasy  substance found in animals.
   
    I’d  like another slice of adipose tissue, she said, and don’t be shy with the  gravy.
   
  4. Fruitful, fertile: fat soil.
   
    With  her first pregnancy she walked five kilometres a day, drank buckets of water.  At dinner she arranged two asparagus spears and a floret of broccoli on a large  white plate, and declared herself full. The boy baby was born thin and mean,  and he tore at her breasts for the fat creamy milk. With her second pregnancy  she took to the couch, reading Barbara Cartland novels, eating Turkish Delight,  adding cheese to everything. Her daughter was born with a liking for pork rind.  Destiny, they said.
   
  5. Fat action: lines in a dramatic part that  permit an actor to display abilities.
   
    Woe,  said the woman, weeping and wringing her hands.
    What  shall we do, asked the man, pale, a hand to his brow.
    For  god’s sake, said the daughter, rolling her eyes and turning up the volume on  Marilyn Manson.
    It’s not like I’m dying or anything. All the girls do it.    
    The  woman offered cheesecake.
      The  man offered nachos.
      The  daughter ran screaming from the room.