chapter 2

You never manage to heave yourself from the couch and waddle all the way to your oh so far away bedroom. Instead, you end up passing out right where you are, in a position not particularly conducive to getting a good night's rest.

Which is why you wake up groaning, neck and back stiff as a board. Rubbing the back of your neck you yawn and stretch, then begin the Herculean effort of trying to lift your well fattened body up off the couch. Pushing aside any stray wrappers, you take a deep breath, lean back, and groan as you strain, strain, strain to haul yourself to your chubby feet.

Miraculously, you manage it on the first try, your belly wobbling like a bowl full of cake, ice cream, cookies, and candy. Yawning, you scratch the top of your gut just as it growls with hunger. You look at all the trash left by your late night binge and at least have the grace to blush with embarrassment.

But still, you decide on having breakfast anyway.

“It is the most important meal of the day, right?” you say, and head to the kitchen.

The first thing to catch your eye is the newly opened pack of white bread on the counter, so you decide on bread & butter for breakfast and take out the butter tub from the fridge. Butter knife in hand, you grab a slice and slather it with the oh so delicious (and fattening) creamy golden yellow butter and stuff it in your mouth.

“Mmmmmm...” you moan, and hurriedly butter another piece, then another, and another, and so on until all of the bread and butter had found a new home in your stomach. Holding the butter container up to your face, you stick your face in as far your chubby cheeks will allow and lick up all the remaining butter pressed to the side.

Licking your lips, you re-open the fridge for some milk to wash everything down; unfortunately, there were only a few sips lift in the milk jug.

“Guess I’ll be buying groceries today,” you mutter.

Next to the milk jug is a smaller bottle of heavy cream. Close enough, you think, and pop off the lid and start drinking while getting rid of the remnants from your breakfast. Once the cream is gone you toss that bottle into the trash and make your way to the bathroom.

You deliberately avoid the mirror (and the dusty scale in the corner) as you walk over to the bathtub and turn on the water. As it’s filling up you put a few squirts in of watermelon bubbles, and when it’s filled you tug off your robe and step in.

Steam rises as you slightly flinch from the high temperature, maybe you made it a bit too hot? Placing your other foot in the water, you stay standing for a minute before carefully putting the rest of your obese body into the tub...and what a small tub it is!

A thin person would have some difficultly fitting comfortablely, for a glutton like you it's almost impossible. It's just long enough for you to stretch out your legs, but certainly not wide enough to comfortably contain all of your evidence of overindulgence. You're forced to keep your meat arms on the sides of the tub, while all of the pork around middle is uncomfortably bunched up like a twelve pack of sausages.

Once more, your weight settles heavily on your mind, lowering your mood which had been rather chipper during breakfast.

(But of course it was—you were eating.)

Another unwelcome image springs to mind, this time of you stuck in a bubbling witch's cauldron, apple in mouth of course, as she cackles with delight over her impending pork dinner.

You slap your face to get rid of this morbid vision, and start to lather yourself with soap. Being forced to touch your numerous pork rolls in such an intimate way puts just how big you've really gotten in the recent months since you're divorce into a new perspective for you, and you promise yourself the next purchase you make is for a gym membership.

After you get the groceries, of course.

Not wanting to remain naked and vulnerable any longer you quickly get your massive self rinsed and pull the stopper from the drain. Now, the hard part: getting out of the tub.

Bracing your hands on either side of the cool ceramic, you grit your teeth and wince as you huff and you puff while struggling to free your body from it's ceramic confines. Eventually you do manage to get free, though unfortunately all of the exertion has left you red and sweaty all over, making the bath you just took almost irrelevant. Eh, nothing a little deodorant can't fix.

It's not long before the chill air causes your damp, exposed flesh to shiver. Stepping carefully onto the bath mat, you groan as you lean down and snatch your robe from the tiled floor. Tugging your plush arms through the sleeves, you don't even attempt to tie it around your shameful gut. Continuing to ignore the mirror, you slowly make your way into your bedroom.

One look inside your bedroom is enough to show the kind of person you are: a slob. Clothes, clean and dirty, are strewn everywhere, some in piles and some are loose articles draped haphazardly wherever your lazy self decided to toss them.

Every day you vow to yourself you'll get everything nicely sorted--and every day that goal remains undone.

You spot a crumpled up top and wrinkled jeans on the end of your bed, the last outfit you wore, two days prior; it was only to go outside and get the paper, before being removed in favor of your now