As desired, when Mom came out with dinner the fish and greens were nowhere to be seen. In their place Mom carried a platter stacked high with deep fried chicken.
"Here you go honey!" my mother said, serving me up some greasy, dripping breast. "Now I might have made too much so I'll need you to be a big boy and eat more than your share."
As Mom went back into the kitchen I began to chow down messily. Finally, no more diets! No more restriction! Just pure gluttony. The one thing I truly cared about in life was overeating and finally I was free indulge myself. I deserved this.
I was about a pound deep into my chicken when my mother returned, my face covered in grease and mess. "Sweetheart! What are you doing?!"
I froze.
"You can't eat fried chicken without gravy!" she laughed, producing a huge saucer of brown gold.
I poured the salted chicken fat it all over my meal, and when my plate couldn't take anymore I began drinking it straight. Life was good.
When the meal was finished, I leant back and groaned under the weight of solid chicken mass in my gut. "So..." I half asked, half burped as Mom cleared the table, "...what's for dessert?"
"Dessert?" Mom looked worried, "are you sure you need MORE food? I mean that can't be very health..."
I made a quick wish and Mom's mood turned chipper again, heading to the kitchen to find me some calories. This was going to be a good year, I thought to myself, but I'm probably going to go through a couple of changes over the next few months. I casually stroked my gut full of yet to be digested grease. Big changes.
Was I looking forward to letting myself go? Or was some part of me hoping to stay the same weight?
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