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Beth tried one final time to go to the gym, but I intercepted her.
K: Oh, honey, I'm glad you're finally awake! I've been baking all morning!
B: Mom, I'm begging you...please stop doing this. I...I don't know what kind of satisfaction you're getting from making your only daughter fat, but...but please...I need to work out...I need to take control...
K: (considers) Fine. You're right. The fact is, Beth, every pound you pack on is a pound I lose. That's why I've been doing this.
B: What? You--you really are a monster! How? That explains everything, but...
K: Oh, an irreversible spell. But you know what? I have been cruel with you. You've probably matured a little bit through having to be fat...probably not such a total slutty bimbo...but...it IS your life.
B: You're damn right it is! And I'm going to work out! I'm not having your food! (Says this, but sits down at the table, an expectant look in her dewy eyes)
K: All righty. I'll just put away these cupcakes. (begins to gather from pan)
B: Cupcakes...?
K: And this chocolate mousse...
B: ...h-hate...you...
K: No, seriously, I'm putting these away.
And I did. I gathered the mousse, the cupcakes, the souffle, the three different pies I'd set to cooling, the two cakes, the cherry cheese danishes, and everything else...and I began, piece-by-piece, to throw them in the trash.
K: There you go, Bethy-boo. I'm releasing you.
(An incredibly conflicted look appeared on Beth's face.)
B: Um...Mom...maybe I'll have just one of the cupcakes before I go work out...?
K: No, honey. You know how you are. One cupcake and you'll want ten more. You're such a little piggy that way!
(I reached across the table and pressed my daughter's chubby wrist)
B: Mom...I...I won't...I....
K: You're stuttering, honey. Huh. Kinda reminds me of Porky.
B: Mom, I need that food! Stop throwing it away!
K: This is for your own good, Bethy! You go to the gym! Now! As fast as you can trot!
B: Mom! I need it! I need it! Please don't throw it away! Please!
(My portly little girl had tears in her eyes, but I kept throwing the delicacies out, one-by-one. Then, before I knew quite what had happened, my daughter leapt over the table, knocking me to the floor, and knocking the trash can over. She then began to--I kid you not--root around in the trash can, face-first, gobbling down cake, icing and--I imagine--garbage, too--eating and almost grunting as she did so, face, hands, and plus-sized track suit covered with chocolate on the kitchen floor.
I could literally see my daughter's belly begin to grow out of her suit as she ate, and ate, and ate. Her chins tripled. Her pants seams were the first to burst, but others followed. Yet rather than find a change of clothes, she stripped off her suit, caring nothing for dignity, eating, and growing, and--an accurate enough description--wallowing, until she was a very fat girl in a very stretched pair of bra and panties. I knew just what to do then. I walked slowly across the kitchen.
K: Oh, honey, I'm glad you're finally awake! I've been baking all morning!
B: Mom, I'm begging you...please stop doing this. I...I don't know what kind of satisfaction you're getting from making your only daughter fat, but...but please...I need to work out...I need to take control...
K: (considers) Fine. You're right. The fact is, Beth, every pound you pack on is a pound I lose. That's why I've been doing this.
B: What? You--you really are a monster! How? That explains everything, but...
K: Oh, an irreversible spell. But you know what? I have been cruel with you. You've probably matured a little bit through having to be fat...probably not such a total slutty bimbo...but...it IS your life.
B: You're damn right it is! And I'm going to work out! I'm not having your food! (Says this, but sits down at the table, an expectant look in her dewy eyes)
K: All righty. I'll just put away these cupcakes. (begins to gather from pan)
B: Cupcakes...?
K: And this chocolate mousse...
B: ...h-hate...you...
K: No, seriously, I'm putting these away.
And I did. I gathered the mousse, the cupcakes, the souffle, the three different pies I'd set to cooling, the two cakes, the cherry cheese danishes, and everything else...and I began, piece-by-piece, to throw them in the trash.
K: There you go, Bethy-boo. I'm releasing you.
(An incredibly conflicted look appeared on Beth's face.)
B: Um...Mom...maybe I'll have just one of the cupcakes before I go work out...?
K: No, honey. You know how you are. One cupcake and you'll want ten more. You're such a little piggy that way!
(I reached across the table and pressed my daughter's chubby wrist)
B: Mom...I...I won't...I....
K: You're stuttering, honey. Huh. Kinda reminds me of Porky.
B: Mom, I need that food! Stop throwing it away!
K: This is for your own good, Bethy! You go to the gym! Now! As fast as you can trot!
B: Mom! I need it! I need it! Please don't throw it away! Please!
(My portly little girl had tears in her eyes, but I kept throwing the delicacies out, one-by-one. Then, before I knew quite what had happened, my daughter leapt over the table, knocking me to the floor, and knocking the trash can over. She then began to--I kid you not--root around in the trash can, face-first, gobbling down cake, icing and--I imagine--garbage, too--eating and almost grunting as she did so, face, hands, and plus-sized track suit covered with chocolate on the kitchen floor.
I could literally see my daughter's belly begin to grow out of her suit as she ate, and ate, and ate. Her chins tripled. Her pants seams were the first to burst, but others followed. Yet rather than find a change of clothes, she stripped off her suit, caring nothing for dignity, eating, and growing, and--an accurate enough description--wallowing, until she was a very fat girl in a very stretched pair of bra and panties. I knew just what to do then. I walked slowly across the kitchen.