chapter 4 - fixing breakfast

Bathed in the bright light of the open refrigerator, I look down to see that my abs seem to be disappearing under a soft thin layer of adipose. What the hell?! Goosebumps pop up on my stomach in the chill from the refrigerator. I freak out and shut the fridge door.

I’m going to get fat if I’m not careful, I think shuddering at the notion of myself with a huge potbelly. And while the idea seems a bit repulsive to me, it also feels strangely desirable.

And that feeling is truly strange and horrifying.

Still, it’s not the end of the world, and it’s just a small bit of flab, I think, plying my side fat between finger and thumb. More activity and a bit less eating are called for, perhaps. Surely, you wouldn’t want me to get fat. It’s okay for you but I doubt you want me to become a fatty too. I resolve to lose these nascent love handles.

As I think these thoughts, I absentmindedly eat the last slice of cheesecake, and lick my lips. I don’t recognize the irony of this until I swallow the last bit of creaminess. I chuckle to myself with a twinge of guilt. I check on the cake and cheesecake in the oven, then start fixing your surprise breakfast.

I get the coffee going first, and soon, the room is filled with the bitter aroma of coffee as it starts perking in the stovetop coffee pot, the bubbling into the glass top growing darker each minute.

I gather vegetables on the chopping board — wild mushrooms, squash, tomatoes, peppers — and I quickly chop them up. I break eggs and stir them in a stone bowl, adding spices. I set it and the veggies aside.

I fix the biscuit dough, cutting biscuits and putting them on a heavy greased pan, then into the oven as I take the chocolate cake and cheesecake out to cool. I also fix dough for cinnamon rolls, adding more sugar and melted butter, then rolling bits of the dough up and sprinkling it with cinnamon and sugar before popping then into the oven.

I mix pancake batter, flour, sugar, fat, with fresh blueberries, then get an ancient griddle ready and popping with oil. This is when I really appreciate your gift of the apron, as it protects my chest from hot splatters of grease.

I look down again, feeling how tight the apron is getting as that entire cheesecake settles into my stomach. I pat my midsection which seems hard like my abs always have been — but a bit more rounded than I remember it ever having been. “Just a little bloat from last night’s snacking and that cheesecake this morning,” I tell myself as I loosen and retie the string a bit more loose.

“Just a little bloat,” I repeat, then recall having said the same to you when you started growing fat.