I was at home that night watching TV when I was struck with an idea. My parents don’t live at home with me most of the time; they’re explorers, and they travel all over the world. There’s a housekeeper who comes in twice a week to clean and she keeps the kitchen well-stocked – explorers who’ve just come by coach on Air Djibouti can be pretty hungry when they first get in. I went into the kitchen and microwaved myself some French fries and heated up a frozen pizza. They were as good as can be expected, and normally that would constitute my dinner, but I was still hungry. So I called up the burger place we’d been at that day and ordered a cheeseburger meal. On a whim, and because exploring pays rather better than you might think, I changed it to three. Then the guy asked did I want that super-sized. So I thought, why not?
The food arrived thirty minutes later, in even bigger portions than I’d thought it would. Still, I didn’t have much else to do, so I dug in. To my surprise, I managed to work my way through the first two quite easily, and although I was full when I got to the third it was a pleasant feeling, and not uncomfortable at all. By this time, however, I had a hankering for something sweet, as you do after a main course, so my slightly distended stomach and I went into the kitchen. In the refrigerator were some large cartons of ice-cream. I put a few scoops of chocolate chip into a bowl and ate it quickly. It was delicious, so I helped myself to a second bowl. And a third. By this time I had a bit of an ice-cream headache and I was feeling quite uncomfortably full, so I decided to stop for the night. I went to bed, with my stomach pressing down on me.
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