Chapter 16 - Carbs to Lard

Back upstairs, Olivia crossed the dance floor with her nose in the air. While this would normally be a metaphor for her own feelings of superiority, in this particular circumstance, it was because she was taking big heavy whiffs of the air and smelling the cornucopia of delights coming from the buffet tables. If this were a cartoon, one would see the aromas lines pulling at Olivia’s nose and turning her head toward the buffet even as she kept walking forward.

It wasn’t until a new smell hit her, the overpowering aroma of roast turkey being freshly carved, that her head turned back toward the carving stations where her target was conveniently located.

Mark was a conventionally attractive man in a Ken costume who was conveniently located by the carving stations. He watched as Olivia approached, got himself ready to be as charming as possible, and watched Olivia blow past him, pick up an entire turkey leg, and tear into it.

Liv turned her head with her signature hair flip while simultaneously ripping turkey flesh clean off the bone. The result of this was that, as she turned around to face Mark, chunks of turkey flew and hit him in the face.

“Oh, hi Mark.” Olivia said with a smile and grease running down her chin.

Mark didn’t know if this was some kind of weird display of dominance or if Olivia had suffered some kind of mental break. All he knew is that he was definitely not about it one way or the other, and, as he watched Olivia’s hand reach for his plate stacked with roast beef, he made himself scarce as quickly as possible.

Olivia just shrugged and went back to putting away poultry. The succulence of this turkey leg was far better than any man as far as she was concerned.

But her swing and a miss when it came to Mark had not gone unnoticed and had in fact drawn the attention of a trio of catty observers.

“Way to strike out there, Piggy.”

“Word of advice, hoarking down food like this… not sexy.”

“And just cause you’re dressed like a pig doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

The women were dancers in the company, primarily used in the ensemble which meant that they had the arrogance to believe that they were more important than the non-dancers working here and the inferiority complex to make them lash out at those same people at the drop of a hat- or, in this case, some turkey meat. Their names were Alana, Chantel, and Maryse, and they always traveled together which means Olivia had trouble keeping track of who was whom (even when she wasn’t preoccupied with poultry.)

“Have you gained weight?”

“Maybe this costume is more appropriate than we thought.”

“Piggy’s putting on the pounds.”

Liv was indeed softer as the start stubborn pounds had spread themselves more or less evenly across her body. It was enough to perhaps go unnoticed by the more casual observer, but, to anyone taking the time to actually look at her, it was clear that she was looking plumper than they remembered.

“Better start watching your weight now.”

“Or you’re just going to watch your waistline expand.”

“You’ll be a plump porker.”

Olivia ignored these comments and a stream of others. While the trio was in a self-sustaining cycle of shrewishness, Liv was much more in love with the turkey leg she was gnawing on until there was nothing left but the bone. Afterward, her softened stomach called for her to find something else to sate it with, and she turned herself back to the buffet.

The ladies followed close behind, unwilling to let their current source of entertainment get away so easily, and followed Olivia to the front of the buffet which was stocked with a variety of bread options.

Olivia started with a small Hawaian roll, and then a Pillsbury dinner roll, and another and soon….

“God, bread is so good,” was the only thing Olivia could think of as she began to stuff her face with dinner rolls two at a time. She didn’t care about the amount of crumbs that were shattering off the crust and falling to her chest and the floor. She didn’t care that large pieces of the rolls at this moment were breaking off mid chew and falling away. It was all about the number, a number that she was never actively counting toward, a number that had no end value in sight, and yet, an unreachable number that existed just the same. It was a constant need for carbs, a craving for carbs, sweet sweet delicious carbs.

How had she been denying herself carbs for long? How had she been able to limit her intake of these heavenly things? This most perfect form of sustenance and pleasure.

No more!

No more would her diet be restrained. No more would she ever turn down a carbohydrate again. They were all hers for the taking. Her arms were wide open, and so was her mouth as she moved on to the breadsticks.

Olivia had never before truly taken the time to appreciate the delicate flavor of sesame seeds and what they added to things. In fact, she wasn’t really taking that time now either. Instead she was simply inhaling breadsticks, crunching, munching, barely chewing, swallowing with a great fervor for more and once again making up for the amount she was losing in crumbs by the sheer volume and speed with which she was attacking her food. She couldn’t remember when the last time she held a breadstick like this was, probably when she was either much younger or when she was drunk at a restaurant somewhere, and even then, it was likely just to pretend they were cigars. Now, they could never imagine wasting time playing with her food again. The time was only for consumption, and she was making the most of it with the breadsticks. It was an impressive intake even as the output of spit covered crumbs was deplorable to all who were witnessing the sight.

The girls she was talking to couldn’t even bring themselves to sling insults her way at this point. Instead they were too stunned by her incredible gluttony and thorough lack of manners to snidely comment on her incredible gluttony and thorough lack of manners.

And Olivia was, of course, too caught up in eating as much bread as possible to notice or care about their comments or lack thereof.

No. She was too busy scarfing down a big piece of French bread. Or maybe it was Italian bread? The subtle difference was lost on her as it is on so many other people even when they aren’t trying to deep throat it like a penguin eating a sardine.

“She really loves bread.”

“Of course she does. And it shows.”

“She’s got the little pasta pooch.”

“If she’s not careful, it’s going to become a full blown pasta pot belly.”

“I mean, look at how she’s going to town. I’d say a gluten gut is inevitable at this point.”

“I feel like it’s growing in front of our very eyes.”

The catty conversation held no sway over Olivia’s consumption as she polished off some kind of puffed pastry and rubbed her parched lips.

“I need something to drink,” she mused out loud.

As she turned around to look for something to drink, her belly, and in fact the rest of her body, wobbled. Her plump cheeks caused the fabric to pucker and the dancers to chuckle. Her sides were stretching the already tight fabric of her costume. Undeterred by the tightness, Olivia continued her search for something to soothe her throat.

At the other end of the buffet there was a large bowl of punch, but Olivia was feeling both too hungry and two lazy to walk that far. When the looked much closer she saw-

“Gravy!”