After a mostly silent meal, just the sound of cutlery on plate, the teen throws his arms up and stretches with a yawn.
"Oh! Man!" he says, and I can see that meal time in the mansion has its own pratfalls, as his stomach now sits proudly on his lap. I straighten my new matronly glasses and pinch an inch of my own protruding gut. From here it looks like maybe 15 pounds. "So, Cindy, how're you spending your evening? I'm goin' straight to the first room that'll get rid of this supper weight!"
I think for a moment while I run my hand around my new pot belly. After all, this has already been stranger than any evening I've ever spent, might as well get weirder...
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