Oh we would love a post dinner update when you finish
okay so QUITE the story, thanks for sending in an ask!!
and as a warning, i wrote most of this shivering on my bathroom floor hugging a trash can to my chest. i haven’t gotten sick yet because i hate hate hate puking and will keep everything down out of sheer willpower if i must. (if i do get sick though, i will record an audio, don’t worry)
first of all, the drive between home and my university is a little under an hour and very windy. my belly had settled down a little from the laxatives, and i was thankfully able to finally empty my tummy a little.
when i got to my parents house, the first thing i noticed was a terribly unfortunate smell. chocolate and frosting and whipped cream and maraschino cherries— my mom’s signature devil’s food cake. i was in for a rough night.
she yelled my name from the kitchen, and i gave her a long hug (sorry everyone, i’m a huge momma’s boy and always have been), and took off my sneakers.
while i didn’t grow up in a “you can’t leave the table unless you clean your plate” house, it was definitely considered rude not to finish a meal someone had made special for you. my mom had prepared an absolutely delicious dinner of manicotti with red sauce and so so so much cheese. my family tends to show love through food, and my mom is especially guilty of it.
i lost a bit of weight when i moved out, probably due to a combination of my tummy issues and being away from her wonderful and extremely butter-heavy cooking. (she’s from the deep south, it’s in her blood.) as per usual, she chastised me for not eating enough and loaded up my plate. now, i don’t know if y’all have ever had to eat something really rich on top of an already packed belly, but oh my god, i was dreading it. i love her cooking so much, but today, it was hard to force down bite after bite of pasta and ricotta cheese and mozzarella and red sauce and cheesy garlic bread. i managed to finish my plate like a good son, my tummy starting to groan again from all the heavy food. my belly was so tight and full, i had unbutton my jeans halfway through the meal. i could barely sit up too, my belly getting heavier and rounder with every delicious bite.
my mom, of course, practically begged me to get seconds, but i think she could tell my tummy wasn’t feeling up for it. it was grumbling so loudly, and i could feel my tummy already starting to churn.
she conceded by announcing dessert: the devil’s food cake. oh man… three layers of thick, heavy chocolate cake, slathered in creamy chocolate frosting, topped with homemade whipped cream and maraschino cherries. my stomach groaned just looking at it. it’s my absolute favorite thing she makes, and she knows it. she cut me a huge slice, and i thanked her and thanked her and thanked her for going through all the trouble of fixing it for me. she bakes from scratch too, so she’d probably been in the kitchen for hours. i didn’t care that my stomach was so full i could burst, i had to keep shoveling it in. the slice was gone in seconds, my belly swelling to accommodate so much cake. she cut me another slice before i could refuse, and put a third in some tupperware to take back home with me. it’s no wonder i was fifteen pounds heavier when i lived with her!
we said our goodbyes around 9:00, and i practically waddled to my car, cradling my distended belly. when i got in, i spent about thirty minutes pulled into the dirt road next to the house, rubbing my unbearably overstuffed tummy with both hands, my pants undone. i was too full to drive. any pressure on my belly made me whimper. i massaged up a few little queasy burps, dreading the winding road back home.
before i left though, i stopped by a late-night pharmacy and picked up some extra-strength stool softeners and laxatives. the gentle ones i’d been taking really just weren’t cutting it, and i popped one of each immediately. that was probably my most dire mistake of the night.
i had to pull over twice to get some fresh air, the sharp hairpin turns through the mountains of my home state threatening to heave everything my sweet momma cooked for me out the car window.
about a third of the way through the drive though, my guts twisted. i heard my belly groan over the noise of the radio, followed by a series of foamy gurgles. it was a distinctly different sound than my stomach grumbling around the enormous servings of cake and pasta stuffed into it— this was deep and low. i had to get home, quick.
my tummy had been so full for so many days, and i’d just had to stuff it with greasy southern cooking and the richest, densest cake i can imagine. i was infinitely grateful for the lactaid my parents still kept in the kitchen medicine drawer, because i’m certain i would’ve been terribly sick without it. even so, i don’t think my belly was happy about all the cheese and cream, as it bubbled and rumbled and glorped all the way home. i wished i had someone to drive me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on my swollen, aching belly. i could barely breathe, and each time my guts contracted to try and process the overload of delicious sugar and grease, i let out a moan.
when i finally got home, i went straight to my bathroom, shaking and stripping down to my shorts. i was sweaty and nauseous and beyond ready for my tummy to finally empty, but i had no such luck for a good 20 minutes. i pulled on my pajama pants slowly, my tummy sloshing from the agitation of bending over to grab them. i spent all night in the bathroom, crying from the awful ache of my severely overstuffed belly. i needed someone to rub my back, to let me press my face into their neck and tell me everything was gonna be okay. after the first few bathroom trips, i just grabbed my blanket and layed down on the tile floor, curled up around my little trash can.
so here it is, my belly full of cheesy bread and ricotta stuffed shells and devil’s food cake. i’m still not quite all the way empty this morning, but i finally feel a good bit better.
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