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All of her friends had got it first. first Amy, then Laura. Becky was only the latest one. She couldn’t be sure of the cause, but she was just so hungry, just like the others. She’d barely seen them, she couldn’t get them to go anywhere now, except a buffet, and even that required triple-checking. She could see why. It was so easy to get distracted when your stomach was constantly talking you into eating everything in sight, and then once that was done, opening up the cupboards to polish off all the other food that you knew of.

The food, once she’d stuffed herself silly, seemed to know exactly where it wanted to end up. She put on pound after pound after pound, but it was all accumulating on her hips, her ass, her thighs. Becky prodded her chest, frowning a little. Nothing? She was like a jiggle factory from the waist down. She’d done the math on how many calories she was putting away every day, and it wasn’t pretty. Not so much as a pound anywhere else?

Her ass strained against the sweats as she shifted her weight from leg to leg, nervously waiting. Even the three minutes it took her food to microwave seemed like an eternity. She was doing her absolute level best to restrain herself–this was her last pair of pants, and she wouldn’t get paid until tomorrow. She quite literally could not afford another shopping spree. She still licked her lips glancing over to the cupboards. She had an encyclopedic knowledge of what was inside of them, and immediately thought of how fast she could eat two party-sized bags of potato chips, and how many calories (4,500, approximately) she’d take in in the process. Her microwave mercifully beeped, saving her from that particular fate, but not the oil-soaked pasta she was getting ready to wolf down. This was getting out of hand, she thought, that thought doing nothing to stop her fork from moving, or the slow, unrepentant southward march of every single pound.