Folks in town used to know him as the skinny farmhand, the boy who could throw hay bales from sunrise to sunset. It was all he, Hank, had ever known. His adolescence was an honest homage to country living. Fixing fences, hauling feed, chasing cattle, plowing the fields of his father's farm... If there was more to life, the boy simply hadn't found it yet.
Years of hard work afforded his father better equipment. The old pickup was replaced with a side-by-side. A new tractor bore the brunt of heavy lifting. His father invested in help for tending crops. These changes left Hank parked on the front porch, an onlooker to his old duties. The only thing that seemed to stay consistent for the boy was his appetite.
Every morning started with biscuits, sausage, bacon, eggs, and enough sweet tea to fill a pitcher. Lunch was communal barbecue, burgers, and fresh fried catfish. Dinner, his favorite, consisted of hearty home-cooked meals. His mother couldn't help but make enough for the whole town. And, just when you finally had a moment to loosen your belt, you were quickly reminded of dessert. Banana pudding, pecan pie, peach cobbler, coffee cake...
The pounds he packed on weren't gradual. No, that would imply moderation. Hank's weight came on with a hefty, unrelenting force. Jeans strained at their seams. Belts ran out of notches. Button-ups lost buttons. The burgeoning boy fell into a routine of buying clothes, filling them out, and trading the attire for a bigger wardrobe.
Beneath all the denim and flannel, Hank's transformation was even grander. Broad shoulders softened to thick mounds of blubber. Taut pecs gave way to heavy, sagging flesh. His firm frame, built from years in the fields, now sported an enormous belly. It cascaded over belts and greedily filled the space of his lap. Thick rolls folded into love handles. Plump hips and thighs widened, diminishing his confident stride to a pathetic waddle. Even the toned arms he had once coveted, proof of years hauling feed, were now soft and padded.
Folks in town used to know him as the skinny farmhand. Now, they saw him as the big man behind the smoker, never far from a plate piled with barbecue, biscuits, and pie. His belly hangs proudly over outgrown jeans, his laugh carries across the porch, and no cookout feels complete until he's gone back for thirds. He may no longer embody the "hardworking country life" of his youth. However, in every other way, he's become the picture of Southern living: well-fed, larger than life, and proof that nobody appreciates good home cooking quite like a redneck.
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
germansingergirl
titsay
areudirty
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
dailybridgerton
izzy806
