By Staff Writer
INVERNESS — The Royal Constabulary found itself on the defensive yesterday after its spokesman, Sergeant Colin Blithers, attempted—and spectacularly failed—to apologize for his description of potential suspects in the theft of the rare gold aureal as “fat ladies.”
Standing before reporters, Blithers read from a prepared statement, though he seemed to have prepared it in a pub about five minutes beforehand.
“I would like to express my regret for using the term ‘fat ladies,’” he began solemnly. “I realize that saying ‘fat ladies’ may have offended some fat ladies, and possibly some not-fat ladies who merely aspire to fatness. I should have chosen different words, but unfortunately, ‘fat ladies’ just leapt out of my mouth because, well, there are quite a lot of fat ladies in this town.”
The gathered press corps reportedly erupted into muffled laughter, which only encouraged him.
“I am deeply, profoundly sorry,” he continued, “that my remarks suggested that only fat ladies commit crimes. This is patently untrue. Crimes are committed by all shapes and sizes of people: thin gentlemen, medium-sized housewives, lanky monks, and the occasional penguin. But yes, I did say ‘fat ladies,’ and yes, I am sorry for saying ‘fat ladies’.”
When asked what terms he might have used instead, Blithers offered an imaginative, if unhelpful, list.
“I supposed that instead of ‘fat ladies,’ I might have said ‘very large females,’” he mused. “Or perhaps ‘rotund adults of the opposite sex,’ or even ‘persons of generous circumference.’ One could also use ‘volumetrically enhanced womenfolk,’ or—if one is feeling poetic—‘maidens of considerable girth.’”
Pausing for effect, he added:
“But none of those have quite the pith of ‘fat ladies.’ And I am truly, truly, really sorry for saying ‘”‘fat ladies’.”
A Catalog of Contrition
At this point, the apology took on the air of a Monty Python sketch.
“I’m sorry for saying ‘fat ladies.’ I’m sure the term ‘stout madams’ might have sufficed. Or ‘hefty matrons.’ Or possibly ‘ample-bottomed gentlewomen of the parish.’ But in the heat of the moment, ‘fat ladies’ was the phrase that tumbled out, like a great fat pudding rolling down a hill.”
Blithers’ supervisor, Chief Inspector Morley, tried unsuccessfully to wrestle the microphone away.
“We do not condone this language,” Morley insisted, his face buried in his palm. “We are working on a more sensitive vocabulary list.”
But Blithers would not be silenced.
“Yes, I am sorry. Sorry for saying ‘fat ladies,’ sorry for repeating ‘fat ladies,’ and sorry that I now appear to be leading a chant of ‘fat ladies, fat ladies’ in front of a gaggle of reporters. Please understand, it is not my intent to insult fat ladies. It is my intent merely to describe them—fat ladies, in all their glory.”
The Aftermath
Reaction was swift. The Guild of Librarians, many of whom fall into what Blithers might call “the pleasantly plump demographic,” issued a stern rebuke, demanding his resignation.
Meanwhile, townsfolk have taken to chanting “Fat Ladies” in the streets, turning the phrase into a carnival-like refrain. Local bakers report a run on meat pies, though it remains unclear whether this is in protest or celebration.
As for the missing aureal coin? Still gone. As for Sergeant Blithers? Still employed—though it is rumored he will soon be reassigned to the less verbally demanding position of “pigeon deterrence officer” on the cathedral steps.
When asked for a final word, Blithers smiled sheepishly and said,
“I’m sorry for saying ‘fat ladies.’ Truly I am. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to apologize to a flock of very broad birds.”