A Pair of Butterballs.

Unloved and lonely Barry was fat, putting not too fine a point on it. Not dripping like a melted candle but more like a blancmange insecurely poured into a suit-shaped jelly bag. He did try to think thin. He did not eat cake, biscuits or chocolate. He assiduously avoided fried food, although the occasional bag of fries slipped through the net. Not more than once a day. It was butter that was his down fall. He did like a bit of bread with his butter. And, maybe a slab, or two, of cheese to give it flavour.

Then he rescued the fairy. A proper, real, Fair Folk creature. No bigger than a child's doll and not resembling Tinkerbell in the slightest. She was fat. A roly-poly bundle squeezed into a grubby tutu with silver tracery wings that buzzed with effort, scarcely lifting above Tibble's head as he batted at her playfully. The cat's paw knocked her sideways, under Barry's foot. He just managed to plonk his size thirteen to one side. He looked down into her sparkling green eyes. She looked up into his little piggy ones.

Love at first sight.

Alas, under his foot was a doorstep of buttered bread. The said foot failed to find purchase and arced skywards. His rear end descended equally speedily and landed with sublime lack of grace in the cat's water bowl. Winded, all he could see was the bread, stuck to the ceiling. Even as he watched, it peeled itself off and flopped down, landing fair and square over his face. There was a feeling of small hands and feet scrabbling up over his torso and a small, rotund body crawling up his chest.

'Och!' The Scottish Fairy exclaimed softly. 'Will ye get out of there, now? I cannae abide buttery kisses.'

300 words