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So... dunno how far my rep preceded from that other site, if at all. Somehow I doubt it did. Anyway, I used to post on the-art-site-that-shall-remain-nameless (under the same user name) between February of 2018 and May of 2020. At which point a particularly vindictive site administrator decided I was a "waste of talent" and a "spammer" and permanently banned me. And blocked my email addresses so I couldn't appeal the ban. Anyway, I'm here now. (I will ignore the chorus of "...So who are you, again?") I'll be re-posting some of my stories here, starting with this one. With a bit of editing. - - - - - - - - - - The Foodbaby Fiasco Chapter One: Christmas Celebration - - - - - - - - - - “It’s the most stress-ful time of the yeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaar…” Naomi mumbled as the blizzard raged outside. The dining room’s dark wainscoting and gold-patterned walls creaked from the wind. Tinsel and colored bulbs glimmered in the candlelight. The house hadn’t had electricity for over two hours, and there wasn’t any sign of it being restored anytime soon. None of that stopped Great-Aunt Helen from cooking. Whisking and chopping noises echoed from the kitchen, joined by the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg and sugar. The old lady wouldn’t let bad weather (and the fact that most of the invitees couldn’t make it) stop her Christmas party. Digitized clicks pulled Naomi’s attention from the snowfall, and she turned and saw her sister snapping pictures of the room. She facepalmed and sighed. “You are not photographing an empty table.” “Oh hello stranger of the past, I’m from the 21st century! We share everything with our Facebook and Twitter overlords!” Andrea replied with a chuckle. “Besides, it’s a statement about time. Silverware and plates from the eighteen-hundreds, house from the fifties, decorations from the seventies, lit by candles and photographed on a smartphone. So whaddya think?” “That people like you are why no-one takes postmodernists seriously.” “Ouch.” Andrea shrugged. “Okay, so, also? I’m really, really bored.” “Play some games on that damn thing,” Naomi replied and gestured to her sister’s pink-flower-cased phone. “Like this POS has storage for any more than songs and a few pics.” Naomi shrugged. “You could use it as a hockey puck.” “True, but then I’d be out fifty bucks.” Andrea giggled, and clicked a few more pictures one-handed. “Hey, we haven’t done this one for a while!” “Done wha-” Naomi began, cut short as Andrea tugged her into a halfhearted hug and clicked a selfie of them before Naomi could protest. The younger woman let go and immediately typed something on the phone. “Duckface… Pic… with… Evil… Twin… Miss… Grumpypants… at… Auntie’s,” Andrea muttered as she keyed in a description, and smirked. “How am I the evil one?” Naomi asked. “Because I said so.” “Dang.” Naomi and Andrea weren’t really twins, though an observer might’ve easily mistaken them for being so. They were both pale-skinned redheads of average height, though Naomi’s locks were short and coppery while Andrea’s hair was a deeper auburn and long. They had similar physiques, being pear-shaped and bottom-heavy, although by no means anywhere near overweight. On the other hand, Naomi was older by two years. She was also more health-conscious, and sported a trimmer, toned build in contrast to her wider and softer sister. Andrea wasn’t chubby, but she often had a slight potbelly during the holidays. They even dressed differently: Naomi preferred layers, starting with a thin turtleneck, then a striped shirt over it, and a long-sleeved buttoned top, her legs clad in blue jeans. Andrea wore a deliberately absurd ugly Christmas sweater and gym pants. “Hey, look on the bright side. Being the evil one means you’ll get a bigger fanbase. And cooler outfits. And better theme music.” “…The heck are you talking about?” “You know, if we had a web show or something-” “You are insane.” Andrea snorted. “Well, that’s what makes me awe~some.” Naomi rolled her eyes. “Careful, sis. At this rate you’ll turn into the anthropomorphic personification of an imageboard.” “But I don’t even own pruning shears or a chainmail bikini!” “…I’m not going to ask what train of thought lead to that remark.” Andrea snickered. “Aw, but learning is half the fun!” The whisking in the kitchen kicked up, and Naomi saw her Great-Aunt working on yet another an entirely new bowl of food, and leaned in to whisper with her sister. “How on Earth can she still be cooking?” “Wow, and you thought I was out-of-touch? See, there’s these things called wood-fired stoves, and Big Auntie’s an old-school badass like that.” Naomi let out an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. “Ah, shaddup. You know what I mean. There’s not that many of us here, the fridge doesn’t work right now, and we’re not going to be able to eat all that.” “Doggyyyyyyy baaaaaaa~aaaaaag,” Andrea replied, singsong. “No. I have no room in my dorm’s fridge as it is.” “Oh well,” Andrea said as she stretched. “Betcha we do eat most of it anyway. Big Auntie’s damn good at cooking.” Naomi couldn’t deny that. “Yeah, but my clothes would be too tight for weeks on end.” “Whine, whine, body-shame, boo-effing-hoo.” Andrea laughed. “I don’t care, skinny missy. Knowing you, you’ll burn it off in a day tops. You know what, do hold back. All that much more for me! I’ll eat and eat and eat until I get so bloated that my shirt doesn’t cover my belly button!” “There is something deeply wrong with you.” Andrea winked. “You know it!” “How much coffee did you drink this morning?” “Eh, none. I think this is a sugar high.” Naomi pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Now I’m afraid of what you’ll be like after dessert.” “Oh don’t worry, I’ll be too ballooned-up to move. Probably.” “True.” “Hey!” “What?” Naomi asked, noting that her sibling seemed more bemused than her suddenly-irked tone suggested. “You weren’t supposed to agree, meanie-butt!” “Too bad. And wow, just wow, ‘meanie-butt’? I haven’t heard that one since middle school. Is all that candy triggering a mental regression?” Andrea was about to retort when the saloon-style door to the kitchen swung open. Great-Aunt Helen shuffled into the dining room with an utterly gigantic foil-covered serving bowl of mashed potatoes in her oven-mitt-clad hands. Helen didn’t bear that much familial resemblance to her grand-nieces, mostly due to age. Her silver hair was well past shoulder length, yet wispy enough to expose much of her scalp. Liver spots dotted her wrinkled skin, and she hunched when she walked. She looked older than she actually was, and regardless of her emotional state tended to wear a stern expression and a perpetually crazy-eyed glare. Naomi immediately offered to take the bowl the rest of the way, but Helen shook her head. “Thanks dearie, but I got it. You can get the yams outta the oven if you like,” she said. Andrea promptly jogged to the kitchen before Naomi even moved, and barely avoided slamming right into their mother. That would’ve been bad, seeing as Mom had the Christmas Turkey in hand, and their father followed with the roast ham platter in his arms. Mom set the plate down. “What’s wrong with Andi?” “Oh, I think she’s just so excited…” Great-Aunt Helen replied. “Or she’s really f… freaking hungry,” Naomi chimed in. Helen eyed her. “You were gonna say a naughty word, weren’t you?” “No,” Naomi replied. “Are you lying?” “Yes.” “Thought so. Don’t wanna have to add soap to your spices, do you?” “Well, that would ruin the flavor…” Naomi said as she took a seat next to her parents, careful to move one of the candles aside. Helen nodded. “Well then, get the dirty words outta your mouth.” “And now I have a mental image of me pulling a scarf with four-letter words written all over it out of my mouth.” Naomi paused as her mother snorted. “And that would be inappropriate.” At that, Andrea returned with the other guests in tow: cousin ‘Little’ James, his wife Sarah, and their son James Junior (JJ for short), all of whom quickly took their seats. And that was it: the seven of them were the only ones – out of a list of dozens of invitees – that’d braved the storm. Which, admittedly, wasn’t so bad. At least this time Naomi figured she’d be able to hear what people were actually saying, rather than trying to work it out from the ambient buzz of twenty people talking at once. It felt a bit odd having this few of them at the candlelit table, though. On every previous holiday, guests occupied every seat, and they’d have an additional table set up to handle the latecomers. Despite the storm, this time felt quiet. Awkwardly so. Apparently Andrea thought so as well, and raised her phone. “So how about a bit of classic Russian Christmas music?” Naomi glowered. “Stop.” “What?” “You’re gonna play the Trololo Man song, aren’t you?” Andrea whistled innocently. “…Noooooooo…?” “Yes you were. Don’t.” Naturally, Big Auntie cut in. “What’s… Tro-low-low?” she asked. Naomi balked. “Oh please don’t-” “Glad you asked!” Andrea interrupted, and pressed play. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Yah-yah-yah, yah-yah yah, yah, nah-nah Oh ho-ho-ho-ho-ho, la-la-la… - - - - - - - - - - As usual, Helen served up more food than could have ever been needed. Before Naomi knew what’d happened, her plate held a massive pile of the overly-rich sustenance. A mound of mashed potatoes, a heaping helping of spiced carrots, sweet yams that looked more like a dessert than a side dish, several generous slices of the Christmas turkey, and a fist-sized pile of mixed beans lay before her – and that was less than half of the types of food her great-aunt had cooked up. “Yep. I think they’ll have to roll me out of the house,” Andrea said, and Naomi halfheartedly nodded in agreement. “I mean, like, this is a literal mountain of food.” “No,” Naomi replied. “Whaddya mean ‘no’? It’s-” “A figurative mountain. Not literal. If that were a literal mountain of food it’d take up much more space and-” Andrea cut her off. “Bo~ring. You’re boring me.” JJ let out a shrill giggle, as if it were the funniest thing in the world, and pounded his fist on the table. “Boo-Rang! Boo-Rang!” he mimicked. Then he tried to spear his carrots with a spoon, and inadvertently catapulted one over the table and onto the windowsill. He then gleefully squealed and did it again, on purpose this time. Neither Little James nor Sarah did anything to stop him, and Naomi sent her parents a sidelong are-you-kidding-me look. Mother rolled her eyes in a way that Andrea had inherited. Father and Naomi sighed in tandem, and both sent a do-your-damn-job glare at the child’s parents. Sarah caught on when a fourth carrot flew by – and quietly told JJ to behave if he wanted extra sweets after dinner. As he’d get dessert either way and was just smart enough to know that, it did little to dissuade him. Naomi mouthed a silent you-must-be-kidding to Andrea. Her sister rolled her eyes, and wolfed down a forkful that looked too large to fit in her mouth. Big Auntie completely ignored the child’s antics and glanced at them instead. “Don’t tell me that your diet’s just smelling the food, Naomi. You haven’t taken a bite yet.” “Well, I was-” She’d have said ‘was about to’ but by raw chance one of JJ’s flying carrots landed in her mouth. Uproarious laughter followed as everyone saw that yes, that just happened. It was one of those little things that happened at their family dinners, and after a few remarks – none of them actually funny – Naomi finally dug in. Helen did one hell of a job this time. Soft, buttery mashed potatoes with exactly the right balance of salt and pepper flooded Naomi’s taste buds. She gulped down several huge mouthfuls in short order, and then one so big that she had to puff up her cheeks. “Are you trying to do a chipmunk impression, Naomi?” her father asked. “Be careful not to choke.” Andrea snickered between bites. She’d done exactly the same thing, but it was so normal for her that nobody said anything. Naomi shook her head, enjoying the fluffy flavor and tuning out droll conversations about her parents’ recent Santa Cruz trip. She ate so quickly that it took her quite by surprise when her fork clinked against the plate. “Huh,” she mumbled, and piled up another heap of potatoes. Then she tried the carrots. They’d been soaked in more butter and dusted with a plentiful amount of brown sugar and cinnamon, then cooked to the point of practically melting in her mouth. The flavor danced on her tongue, and she felt like she’d already reached the meal’s dessert. She speared three or four of them onto her silverware at a time. “–have to ask Naomi. Whaddya think?” her mother asked, glancing her way. “Do you think it works that way?” “Huh?” She glanced from her plate, her mouth filled with a spoonful of the mixed beans, enjoying the cold side’s mix of oils and vinegar tastes. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Mother twirled a lock of mildly-grayed auburn hair. “James said-” Little James cut her off. “Wind farms cause climate change.” Naomi blinked. “…What.” “See, because of all the wind farms, the air’s being turned around and pulled down and so the planet heats up. It makes more sense than this greenhouse effect bullsh-” (Little James cut himself off at Big Auntie’s glare) “…bull-poop. I mean, there’s nothing solid to hold the heat in!” You’re a moron, Naomi thought. She didn’t dare say it out aloud, but Little James’s obstinate refusal to understand high-school thermodynamics or how a greenhouse functioned got on her nerves. “Ah… I’ll have to check my notes, but I think it only causes weird ground-level currents.” “Which cause global warming,” he said, as if she’d proven his point. That how he worked; he pretended getting the last word was a victory. She knew damn well that he was trying to bait her into a no-win scenario; if she gave him the intellectual beatdown he so desperately needed, everyone would treat her like the villain for making him look bad in front of his wife and kid. If she handled him with the kid gloves, she’d be labeled a condescending elitist. If she started and backed down for fear of escalation, he’d claim victory and act like he was the more intelligent one. Of course, if she handled it perfectly and beat him fair and square, he’d say her data was all fake and claim their argument was moot. So she disengaged. “I’ll check my notes later.” To cut herself short, she gulped down a glass of soda, taking long enough that Little James got bored and started yammering about something else. She then finally chomped away at her turkey. Hints of spices and salts brought out the flavor. It was far too good to be left to cool and used later on as sandwich meat, as the family too often did with leftovers. She gave Big Auntie a quick compliment, and then went back to eating. It’d be tough for Little James to stir up an argument if she kept her mouth shut. Or full. And so Naomi filled up her plate again. This time was for the other half of the dishes, starting with the ham. She added big scoops of the odd diced tomato, herbs, onion, and grilled pineapple medley that Helen was so proud of as well. She took heaps of the marshmallow-topped yams, and massive slices of cornbread too. At this rate I’ll get fat, she mused. The meal alone was enough to distract her from the averted argument, and she mused on how the ham contrasted the turkey. While the latter was savory, salted, slightly dry and light on the tongue, the former tasted sweet, rich, and heavy. Honey glaze with a hint of apple gave it an amazing flavor, and she took her time with each bite. If the first part of the meal had been balanced, this half was sheer sugar. Nonetheless she gulped it down in large mouthfuls, and redoubled her efforts when Little James tried to steer the topic back toward his anti-science conspiracy theories. Another piece of ham here, a heap of tangy fruit-and-veggies mix there, and more kept her busy. She dug into the yams, and noticed a distinct hint of nutmeg among the soft texture. The side dish could have easily served as the filling for a gourmet pie. Even the otherwise fairly normal-looking cornbread tasted cake-like; moist, heavy, and sweet. It didn’t crumble like she’d expected, and she felt like she should’ve eaten it with her fork rather than her fingers. When she finished it off, she picked away at the crumbs. More remained. She grabbed a ladle and poured herself a bowl of the stew, and tried the less-appetizing foods as well; the coleslaw, the relatively bland-looking Italian salad, and the bread-and-walnut dressing. Despite Big Auntie’s usual standards, only the first was any good; a hearty stew in broth, full of sliced carrots, red potatoes, rice, celery, and more. Naomi slurped it down, saw Little James turn his head her way, and immediately heaped up seconds of the ham, potatoes, turkey, and bread. Andrea did likewise, and chuckled. “My food baby’s coming along. I think my belly button’s gonna pop soon.” Father laughed. “Just remember we’re not staying the night – you’ll need to fit through the door.” Naomi glanced to the window as the blizzard kicked up again. She didn’t know what her parents thought, but no way would she drive her car in that mess. Especially in the dark. - - - - - - - - - - Silverware clinked against plates, and the guests waited for serving platters to make their rounds once more. Despite everything they’d eaten, more remained. Naomi ‘accidentally’ took too big of a scoop of potatoes. “Whoops. Just made tater mountain,” she said. Andrea smirked. “A figurative mountain, or an actual one?” “Ah, shut up Andi.” Helen butted in. “Naomi! Don’t be rude! Say you’re sorry!” Naomi shrugged. “Uh… no?” Her great-aunt sighed. “Kids these days… in my day, people knew how to respect the rules.” Naomi grinned. “Auntie, I do recall your stories about how you used to sneak out and smoke joints with some Fonzie-looking biker guy…” “That was different,” the old lady said. “How?” “For starters, I got away with it.” JJ looked baffled. “Wassa join-tes?” he asked, shrill as always. Sarah cut them off. “It’s a nasty, filthy habit that Big Auntie used to have, and you shouldn’t ask.” She then gave Naomi a stern glare. Naomi capitulated, and turned her attention to her food. Thankfully, Little James grew bored of trying to provoke her, and she was left to eat in peace. Bite after bite went away, and it struck her that she didn’t know if it was her third or fourth plateful. She’d stopped paying attention, and instead just enjoyed the tastes and textures. Then she had one bite too many, and her jeans burst open. She paused, fork halfway to her mouth as she realized what happened. She tried to fix it one-handed, without success. She took her next forkful anyway, and re-buttoned her pants – which immediately popped open. She fixed them again and again, and the button refused to stay closed. Flustered, she sucked in her stomach and tightened them one last time. “Everything okay, Naomi?” her father asked. “Yeah,” she lied. “Dropped something on my lap, that’s all.” He accepted that explanation without question, and went back to his meal. Naomi played it cool, relaxed… and felt her pants pop again. Give me a break, these were loose when I sat down! Did I eat that much? She didn’t want to look down. She stared at her still-mostly-full plate (which she decided must’ve been her fifth) and tuned out that chatter around her. The meal taunted her, as if saying ‘eat me’ and she imagined herself as Alice in Wonderland – but instead of the food and drink changing her size, it’d make her bloat up. She tried not to count calories. On the other hand, Christmas was a once-a-year thing. Maybe a bit of extra food wasn’t so bad. She resumed eating, and soon enough the plate was empty once more. Out of curiosity, she finally glanced down, but in the dim candlelight she couldn’t see much. As stuffed as she was, she didn’t yet feel full; she felt like she could eat an elephant. She piled up another small plate, leaned back, and held in a burp. Enough, she thought. After this you’ve had enough. Enough is en- An argument cut into her thoughts. “You need to eat your carrots, sweetie. Get the runway ready for the airplane-” Sarah said to her child. “NO!!! DON WANNA!!! CAR-TOTS IS YUCKY!!!” JJ screamed. He slammed his fists on the table. “YUCKY!!! YUCKY!!! YUUUUUCKYYYY!!! CAR-TOTS!!! IS!!! YUUUUUUCKYYYY!!” He then paused and took a deep breath. “YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!” Naomi’s ears rang. She wanted to tell JJ to go to the guest room, but that was allegedly his parents’ call. Even if they sent him away, he’d scream and cry all night. Or play video games. So she waited. “YUCKY!!! YUUUUUUCKYYYYY!!!” (Perhaps JJ loved screaming.) “I WANNA PIE!!! GIMME PIE!!! GIMME!!! GIMME NOW!!!” She looked over to Andrea, who’d busied herself with the meal. Their parents exchanged glances, and mother looked about ready to say something. Father pushed his glasses up to his receding hairline and pinched the bridge of his nose, and JJ’s shrieks drowned out his exasperated sigh. Her great-aunt hid a quiver, on the verge of tears from the child’s insults. “Hey fine, you don’t want ‘em I’ll take ‘em,” Naomi said, and swiped the carrots from JJ’s plate. The boy sniffled. “Take yuckies.” He tossed one toward her, and it splattered on the table instead. It was almost funny. “Thanks.” As soon as JJ looked away, Naomi winked at Sarah. “So, I know that kids who don’t eat their veggies don’t get their dessert. Does this mean I get his slice of pie?” Sarah caught on. “Oh, of course. It’s very nice of you to let Naomi have your dessert, JJ.” The child’s face contorted as he worked out what just happened, then twisted into the verge of an even worse tantrum. “Gimme back yuckies!” Naomi speared a carrot on her fork and ate it. “Whoops, too late.” JJ howled. “NO!!! DON TAKE IT!!! PIE MINE!!! MINE!!!” Sarah patted him on the back and put a small serving of carrots on his plate, and glared daggers at Naomi for provoking him. Naomi sent a you-must-be-kidding-me glance to Andrea, who tried not to snort. Tried. As Sarah and Little James reassured their toddler that he could still have his pie if he ate the veggies, Naomi heaped scoops of potatoes and turkey and cornbread onto her dish. She discreetly wolfed it down, and paid little mind to the small talk. She caught her parents whispering about how if she or Andi ever acted like that they’d have spent the rest of the night in their rooms – but somehow she doubted that. Naomi’s silverware clinked against empty porcelain again, and she put together yet another serving. She didn’t think much of it as she ate – until her shirt’s buttons strained. When she looked down, she saw her belly had ballooned out as far as her chest. Oh damn, she mused, and undid the fasteners before they burst. She felt grateful that she’d worn layers. Helen noticed. “Is it too warm in here, Naomi?” “Kinda. Must be the heat from the oven,” she lied, relieved that her bloated stomach went unnoticed in the candlelight. Despite her engorged state, the meal was so good that she snacked on small servings of side dishes. Her ‘small’ snacking quickly escalted to another full plate. - - - - - - - - - - Auntie helen lit another set of candles as the first burned out. Both of Naomi’s parents finally set their plates aside, her dad complaining that he felt fit to burst. Little James and JJ did likewise, which didn’t stop the child asking for pie every thirty seconds. Naomi added more to her remaining food from spite, and as did Andrea. Sarah finished off a tidbit more and finally pushed her plate away. As Little James and father chatted about an old police cruiser they planned to restore, Naomi gulped down the buttery mashed potatoes. Her clothes felt funny, and she supposed that her jeans zipper no longer closed. She couldn’t see it in the poor light, but kept eating regardless. Mother elbowed her in the side, and Naomi supposed JJ was about ready to pitch another fit from not getting his dessert. “He can wait,” she whispered. Mother nudged her again. “…What?” “If you’re going to get up, fix your shirt,” her mom muttered. “Hmm?” Naomi wasn’t sure how she’d made the cloth lift, but it was a simple fix. She reached down, felt a sliver of bared skin, and tugged her shirt over it. As she let go, it rode up again. Uh-oh. Naomi pulled it down again, and it rose as she released it. She tried again, but the third time was decidedly not the charm. She pulled it down so much that it left a bit of her back exposed, but a slight shift in position made her belly peek out again. She tried to tuck in the hem, but her unfastened jeans made it problematic. I’m that freaking bloated?! I thought that only happened in cartoons! She did her best to keep a straight face, then tasted a distinct flavor of spiced beans. On instinct she’d taken up another spoonful – and a mostly-full plate sat before her. She groaned. That wasn’t good for leftovers; Helen expected clean plates, and didn’t particularly like wasted food. One more helping had to go; she barely managed it, and her shirt rode up further. Naomi put down her silverware, sat back, patted her distended belly, and sighed. “Thanks, Big Auntie. That was great, I’m stuffed.” She eyed the considerable amount of food remaining. “Guess we’ll have left-” She burped. Loudly. Her hands flew to her mouth and she blushed as all the chatter stopped. For a moment every pair or eyes fell on her. Andrea broke the awkwardness as she reared back laughing, and everyone else followed suite. Naomi looked at her empty plate. “Leftovers,” she finished, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yes, I guess we will.” Helen stood up, her omnipresent crazy-eyes stare falling to Naomi. “So, who’s up for pie?” “ME!!! ME-ME-ME-ME-ME!!!” JJ shouted. “I think JJ speaks for everyone here,” Mother said. At this rate I’ll explode, Naomi thought – but said, “Yeah, sure.” Within moments, two warm pumpkin pies sat on the table. The scent demolished Naomi’s reservations over eating more. For a moment she felt like she’d be able to fit an entire pie into her stomach. Helen cut the first into generous sixths rather than her normal eighths; Father politely declined a piece, and Little James and Sarah split theirs. Naomi stared at the dessert before her. It smelled good; she wanted to gulp it down at once. Orange-brown, perfectly spiced, and topped with a fist-fized spiral of whipped cream, it looked like the sort of food that could instantly make a thin person quite fat. She waited until everyone had a piece and took her first mouthful. Sweet heaven flowed over her taste buds. Every hint of spice and sugar brought out the flavor and texture to its fullest, complemented by the crispy graham-cracker crust and the soft toppings. She savored the bites and drowned out the chatter around her, losing herself in the meal. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven mouthfuls… and then it was gone. Naomi sighed. At least that was over- Thunk. An entire quarter of the second pie landed on her plate. She looked up and saw Auntie Helen beam at her. “Um… thanks…? But that’s a bit much, so…” “Hey, you looked like you enjoyed it, and we don’t know when we’re getting the power back. Go ahead and eat up,” Helen said, and offered a big chunk to Andrea as well, who gladly accepted it. Well… New Year’s resolution, burn this all off by next Friday, Naomi told herself. She dug in. By the time she’d counted to thirty, she’d eaten the whole thing. She polished off the crumbs, licked her silverware, and sat back. Full. She was finally full. She suspected that if she ate another crumb, her family would get showered by bits of her dinner – because she’d puked or popped, whichever came first. She sat back and let out another belch, ignored the laughter, and reached down to fix her shirt. She couldn’t get it over her belly button.

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