A Tale of Christmas

It happened one Christmas, several years ago. We were planning to visit her family on St. Stephen's, on Christmas Day I drove my girlfriend to visit mine. It wasn't her first visit there but she still wasn't quite comfortable with my folks. Hence her request to take a car although we lived just a mile apart.

“I want to look my best,” she said, “show my new blouse and miniskirt and I can't wade through snow in high heels, right?” I fully agreed, noting how skillfully she sidestepped her main reason for taking a car – her laziness, growing even faster than her figure.

Anyway, the family feast was over, presents had already been distributed and admired, wrappers piled everywhere around. The two of us were sitting at my parents' couch. My beloved used me as a pillow, half-laid down to give her tummy more breathing space, she happily digested.

Father pulled out a camera, Mother quickly picked trays of food from the coffee table (“It mustn't look as if we're not doing anything but eating today”). Before taking them away she naturally offered us a bite. My beloved took half a dozen cookies, crunching happily until they were gone, then she licked sugar off her fingers and folded her hands on her tummy.

That did it. Mom, just returning from the kitchen, had a good look at her rolls struggling out of a confining belt and said: “Listen, girl, you ought to show some self-control, or he'll have to roll you around soon.”

My not-so-little sister snickered, my smile turned into a grimace, I felt my cheeks warming up. My dearest inhaled as if getting ready to answer, but then she swalowed whatever sharp retort she had prepared, opting to look outraged instead.

My Dad with his talent for impeccable timing chose this moment to press the button, immortalizing it for the family photo books.

Good mood was gone. My dearest waited for the return of sweets, then she drily announced she was not planning to roll around any time soon, with the look of offended innocence in her face. And she started vacuuming anything edible within reach.

Mom was silent too, likely regretting her words, my sister competed with my beloved in consumption so it was up to me and Dad to keep up conversation. We exchanged plans for the coming weeks, wished everyone a happy new year and it was time to go.

In the car my beloved carefully slid the safety belt aside to avoid it touching her overtaxed belly, all the while looking thoughtful. The previous incident must have been nagging at her. As soon as I drove out from the parking lot, she said: “You know, I don't get your Mom at all. She doesn't like my weight, fine. I get it. But then why did she push seconds on me, and thirds? And the cake, ice cream, cookies? Why?!”

I thought long and hard what to answer. Frankly, I wasn't sure myself and I didn't want to hurt her. Waiting to take a left turn, I used the time to caress her left thigh, spreading on the upholstery. “Well, that's just my Mom. She'd like you to be thin like a supermodel and yet she loves to see you enjoy her cooking and pushes food on you all the time. She just doesn't know what she wants. After all, you've seen my sister, right?”

“Huh. And what about you? Do you know what you want? And what is it?”

“But you know that already.” By this time my attention was fully occupied with parking so I used the time to think more about my answer. Only after I locked the gearbox and got out, I ran around the car, helped her get up and continued: “I want you. Yes, I admit it might be nice to show off a supermodel at my side but...” I silenced any potential objections with a thorough kiss. “All the bones jutting out of her body must poke and pinch and… a round figure with no sharp edges is much more enjoyable, right?”

“Glad you admit it,” and my honesty was rewarded with another long kiss.