Chapter 3

The next morning, Mallory got up early, as usual, and went for her morning jog. Then she came home and started a cooked breakfast. David came downstairs, showered and dressed, just as she was cracking an egg into the pan. He went straight for the coffee machine.

"Throw on an extra egg for me," he said. "I'm feeling hungry this morning."

It was true. His belly, so full last night, felt weirdly empty. He went to the fridge and packed up some of the leftover fried chicken and sides for his lunch. There was still half the pie left. He hesitated, then wrapped up the whole thing to take with him.

Mallory flipped two fried eggs, three sausages and two slices of toast onto a plate. David ate while she fixed her own breakfast.

David got the Santa suit that day and on Saturday he slid it on over his clothes. The jacket hung lose, as his belly was far from a match for the kind of paunch Santa was supposed to have. It jiggled, but more like a cup full of jelly than a bowl full. He padded out the extra space with a pillow, adjusted the itchy fake beard and went it. Mallory had come to the party with him, dressed all in red and green, and served as his elf for the half hour he spent handing out presents to the children of employees. When he was done, he left with a loud "Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!", went out, took the suit off and came back in as himself. He was just in time for the pizza. It was from one of the city's best pizza places, and David sampled the slices freely. He was munching on slice number six when Ranjit came over.

"Great job, David," he said.

"Thanks, it was kind of fun."

"Listen, if you wouldn't mind, would you keep the suit? You can be our Santa again next year."

"Sure," said David.

He was stuffed full of pizza and eggnog and chocolates by the time it was time to leave.

David continued to eat as if food was going out of style over the holidays. After all, he was just about to go on a diet, wasn't he? So he allowed himself to have an extra serving of turkey dinner here, an extra slice of mincemeat pie there. And it showed. He wasn't able to button any of his pants or dress shirts properly. He resorted to wearing his biggest, once-oversized t-shirts pulled down to conceal his unbuttoned fly. But he refused to buy new clothes, as he was just about to lose all this weight. He patted his full, round belly, sighing. It was a pity, in a way, because he was enjoying pigging out. To his surprise, there was something appealing about his soft gut, his fleshy chest. He liked looking at himself, touching himself. But it had to go, he told himself sternly. There was no way Mallory would want the total fatty he was turning into. In January he'd see about a gym membership.