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I know, I know. I honestly don't blame you for thinking it's a recipe for disaster.
I mean, as someone who's four-hundred pounds. (And growing!) Who is utterly in love with her fat body and dedicated to growing to greater heights of obesity, not to mention lazy as hell, rooming with an athletic girl sounds like a worst arrangement than I'm currently in with my fat-phobic Mother.
So naturally, I was pretty skeptical when I saw Kirsten's profile after she responded to my ad. She was one year older than me at Nineteen, brown hair that was tied into a short pony-tail and a fairly angular face from the face shot of the photo she sent me.
Yeah, I decided to talk to her. Mainly because when we got to messaging each other she seemed pretty chill, not to mention she said something about having pretty miserable luck with previous roommates so even a sporty gal like her willing to try and make things work with my fat-ass. although I'd sent her a face shot of myself, it was slightly out of date by about fifty pounds, so she could easily turn when she gets a load of my blubbery stomach in person.
When I'd got to the front door of my current abode, while snacking on a rather large Chocolate bar I picked up along the way, I knocked on the door, awaiting my new flatmate to answer.
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