Chapter 3 - breakfast in bed

Upon waking, I found that my fantasy had taken up perpetual residence in my mind, along with, apparently, a splitting headache from the previous night's festivities. Looking back, it's funny to me how one fantasy could shape a marriage, but there's no arguing that it certainly did. From that point forward, I was determined to transform it into reality.

The rest of our honeymoon came and went, with Delilah and I basking in post-wedding bliss and relaxation. We left the cruise ship after seven magical days and nights and returned to normal life at our (now shared) tiny urban apartment. Despite our rather consistent overeating, there wasn't much physical consequence for either of us. Though, it was clear that Delilah missed being spoiled by the ship's amenities.

"Ooh, why can't someone serve us dinner?" Delilah whined in the days after our return. "I just want a good looking Cuban waiter to serve me steak and lobster and bring me desert without judging me! No offense, sweetie."

"Hey, I may not be able to give you steak and lobster, but I won't criticize you for chowing down. Eat as much as you want," I replied.
Delilah prodded her fork at her pitiful-looking meal of dry chicken, microwaved mixed vegetables, and French fries. "Ah, it's just not the same." she sighed.

She glanced it my direction and apparently saw that I looked a bit downcast - I had cooked the meal, after all.

"I mean, it's good! Very good! Better than anything I could make, that's for sure. Unfortunately, you married a girl with literally zero cooking skills," Delilah said, scrambling to make me feel better.

"Don't...don't worry about it. And who knows, maybe you'll learn to be an awesome cook someday. I mean, we've got the rest of our lives together," I said with a smile.

Delilah laughed and replied, "Fat chance..."

~*~*~*~

Delilah's 27th birthday occurred about 2 months after the honeymoon. Traditionally speaking, there wasn't any extra significance for this occurrence, but as it was our first birthday celebration as a married couple, I wanted to make it special. Plus, I knew Delilah was feeling a bit down on herself as she continued to struggle to find work while I was having great success in my career - she needed something to pick her up. I decided to recreate our honeymoon.

I went all out. That morning, I awoke at dawn and cleaned the entire apartment. In the process, I rigged up several scented oils in our apartment to give it a fresh smell. I studied up on how to fold bath towels into clever shapes and figures; I chose an elephant for this occasion. Then, I donned suit pants and a vest, complete with a gold nametag that I had managed to make the night before. The pinnacle, however, was the breakfast feast I prepared.

I spared no expense. Delilah said that she missed being served food - I would make sure that she had everything she could desire. Savory, sweet, hearty, light, dairy, meat, fruit, vegetables - all were represented in spades among the multitude of dishes. I placed the enormous platter, a feast that could possibly feed a small family, on a long, wooden serving tray with legs.

"Good morning birthday girl..." I said in my most saccharine voice.

Delilah slowly roused from her sleep. "Mmm...good morning..." she said groggily with her eyes still closed. I set down the large serving tray across Delilah, which in hindsight served as an improvised trap, blocking her from leaving the bed.

"What's...what's all this?" she said, opening her eyes and taking in the huge amount of food that lay before her.

"You said you missed having someone serve you meals. Well, I wanted to change that."

Delilah looked up at me and noticed my waiter/host attire. "Oh...you've even got a cute little name tag!" She was smiling from ear to ear and thankfully played along with the skit.
"Well, mister...uh, Brian! I do appreciate this excellent service, but I don't remember ordering such a grand feast. A petite woman like myself would never over indulge. I do have a figure to maintain, you know."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of saying this is a bit too much?"

"Yes!"

"Ah, I see. Well, I figured as much. I just wanted to give you options. Eat as much and whatever you like. Let me worry about the clean-up."

Delilah smiled. "You really are such a sweetheart, Brian. Thank you," She dropped the act and was being genuine. She beckoned me toward her and planted a dry kiss on my lips.

"Now, I really am starving though and this all looks delicious. Let's see how much of a dent I can make in this banquet."

It wasn't much. For as much as Delilah played up her desire to be served and love of food, the reality was that she was still a wispy, self-conscious young woman with a fairly normal appetite who was unaccustomed to indulging herself. She sampled a few of the dishes and seemed to take a liking to the sausage, but overall she consumed a fairly standard portion.

I have to admit, at the time, I was a little frustrated. I wondered if my fantasy of transforming her into a docile, luxuriant, and voluptuous woman was just a pipe dream. But I thought back to the night on the cruise, the night in which I discovered Delilah's true potential. Her transformation would require patience, time, and my ever-guiding hand. It was going to be an overhaul of her current mindset - it would be behavioral, it would be comprehensive, and it would not just be captured by numbers on a scale.

That's when the idea hit me. The breakfast wasn't a failure - it was merely a beginning. I could turn it into a yearly tradition and gauge her response to it time and time again. I could keep the conditions constant by making the same foods and the same amount each time. It would be my own little longitudinal study.

My hypothesis? Given enough time and encouragement, Delilah would be able to make much more than a "dent" in her birthday breakfast.