Melanie part 2

I twist my slightly greasy brown hair idly between my fingers as I change the channel onto one of my favourite game shows. Mum’s brownies are so chocolatey and wonderful that I practically inhale them. Sometimes I wonder where they get all that money to just give away to people. But most of the time I’m just glad for the winners. The next thing I knew, there were no more brownies left. Good, I thought; I’m ready for dinner, anyway.

“Mum, what’s for dinner -- oh!” I said, as she came in from the kitchen with a great big serving bowl of macaroni cheese. One of my favourites.

“I’ll bring you milk and hot chocolate, is that good?” she asked.

“Mmm-hmm,” I answered through my first mouthful. Mum’s macaroni cheese is the best I’ve ever had, anywhere. It’s so buttery and creamy. There’s a commercial for Slim-Fast. Those make me feel strangely guilty, so I hit Mute.

“I bet your feet are killing you after all that walking,” Mum said. She sat down beside me with her dinner plate, but before she started eating, she took off my socks and shoes. She’s so thoughtful like that. Ah, that did feel much better. Now the only thing that was still a bit uncomfortable were my trousers. I tugged them down several inches, so that my belly spilled out over the waistband unconstrained. That felt wonderful.

I turned the sound back on my show and relaxed into my favourite time, dinnertime. I don’t like the quiz shows as much as the games-of-chance shows. I propped the big serving bowl up on my tubby midriff; it felt heavy and warm and comforting. This ordinary-looking young man just won a new car because he knew the most capital cities of Africa. I eat heaping spoonfuls of my favourite pasta. I didn’t even know most of those countries, never mind capitals. My serving size is probably pretty big compared to most folks. It’s probably three times what Mum serves herself. But I don’t really notice it because I’m usually watching television, like tonight.

Next was one of my sitcoms. The elbow macaroni tastes so good, and the rich cheesy sauce is heavenly. I like the ones where the jokes are just good clean fun, and the characters seem like they really would make good friends. I’m glad Mum gives me such a big bowl, because no matter how much there is, I always dread coming to the end of it.

I think the young guy in this show would make a sweet boyfriend; I can almost imagine him kissing me. That thought makes me feel funny, and without realising it I start gobbling my dinner down faster. And then suddenly it’s all gone. I take a deep breath and set the bowl aside.

It’s that wonderful, magical feeling that I’ve been thinking about all day: the feeling of my belly being warm and full, and of my tired, cumbersome body being at rest.

“Want some more, love?” Mum asks, as soon as she sees me set the bowl down. She’s awful good to me, she always makes sure I get enough to eat. I was just about to say No, when the Slim-fast commercial comes on again.

“Please, and can I get an extra lump of butter in it?"

My mum clears our plates and glasses out to the kitchen. I’ve muted the television but I’m still looking at Before and After images. I’m much fatter than even the Before image. It makes me nervous. I don’t like those sorts of commercials. They always imply something is wrong with you. I close my eyes till I hear Mum coming back with my second helping, just as big as the first.

The cute young man on my show is having a terrible day; everything he tries to do is coming out wrong. I stir the lump of glistening butter until it melts into the rest of my pasta. Now he’s getting a speeding ticket and he wasn’t even driving. It’s absurd. He never seems to catch a break. This time when I place the serving bowl on my midriff, it feels twice as heavy and a bit uncomfortable,  but as soon as I start eating again, the delicious flavors make me forget all about that.

I take my time, savouring each bite. I drink down some thick, creamy milk with every bite of macaroni. Finally, something good is coming his way -- he got accepted to the university. Well done. Now Mum’s brought the second round of brownies in. I got accepted to university too, but Mum didn’t push me to go, and I’m just as happy here at home.

“Finish your dinner, Melanie, and you can have the rest of the brownies,” she tells me cheerfully.

Quite suddenly I realise I’ve overdone it again. My stomach aches from being overfull. It must have happened when I was watching my show. But I manage to pack in the last four or five bites of pasta, and Mum smiles encouragingly as she clears the empty bowl away again.

The brownies are so tempting, and despite my bellyache I dig into them straightaway. My young man is breaking up with his high school sweetheart, and it just hurts my heart for the both of them. The chocolate is cloyingly sweet, and I wash it down liberally with creamy milk. She’s driving down the road crying, and I feel like crying for her. I stack two brownies on top of each other to gobble them down faster. More milk, more brownies, more milk. By the time the credits roll, I’ve decimated the entire tray, leaving only crumbs.

And when that dreaded commercial comes on again, I realise just how much I’ve eaten in the last hour: literally an entire pan of macaroni cheese, and two pans of brownies, and probably half a gallon of milk. I certainly can feel it. I’m so full that my breathing is shallow by necessity, from the pressure of my swollen stomach. It tasted so wonderful. And Mum knows I’ve overdone it, so she’ll let me rest as long as I need. Rather than compare my big belly with the Slim-Fast Before image, I turn off the TV and close my eyes.

I think of the young man wrapping his arms around me and kissing me like he used to kiss his girlfriend. At least I’ve got those generous, stretchy black bottoms to wear tomorrow. They should encompass my growing gut. I’m just going to take a little nap while I let my dinner digest. It’s true, I’m in a bit of discomfort from my overeating. But I couldn’t have helped it. Anyway, I feel safe and cozy. Overwhelmingly satisfied, I drift into a deep sleep.