Just once, you think to yourself. I will buy the heavy cream, make the shake, see how it feels.
You really don't like the acidic feel that the cream leaves in your throat and belly. And it's very hard to just chug it like that. You decide to mix it with melted ice cream in your favourite flavour.
Now, that's completely different. It's actually quite delicious. You don't realize when you finish the cup. 800 calories of cream, plus about 200 of ice cream. A drink of a thousand calories. It takes its time to land heavily in your stomach, bloat it, and leave you feeling lethargic.
Well, that's that, you think. At least I know how it feels.
Heavy cream catches your eye when you go grocery shopping. The tantalizing 35% of fat hypnotizes you. You remember your experience from 2 weeks ago. What if I did it just one more time, you think.
Somehow, this time the cup is gone even faster.
Fridays. After a whole week of work, Friday evenings come heavy and drowsy like the full cup of heavy cream you chug just before bed. It actually helps you sleep. It gives you a nice little reprieve after a stressful week. A dreamless, heavy sleep.
Your pants don't fit like they used to. You find yourself brushing your hands over your belly, which feels creamy like the beverage of your choice. A size up it is. You start craving the Friday feeling of fullness. What if you also did it on Saturdays? After all, what's better than a restful weekend?
Fuck, stairs seem to have gotten steeper. Even though you live on the 2nd floor, you stop taking them, opting for the elevator. You take a dislike to jeans in general; the fabric doesn't seem to be stretchy enough. Sweatpants are a far better choice.
You slowly trot back to your apartment. Inside, you unpack your bag. 3 litres of heavy cream. Hopefully, it will last over the weekend.
Why do you feel sweaty all the time? It must be the weather. You cut down on almost all walks. You catch yourself on wishing streets had moving sidewalks, like on airports. That would be dreamy...
What's not dreamy, is the fact that your favourite clothing store doesn't have your size, apparently. What bullshit. They must have changed their charts - no way you are 2XL.
You shake your head, then proceed to chug down your daily cup of heavy cream.
2 cheeseburgers, and you're still peckish. Even the triple thick milkshake doesn't seem to fill you quite as well as your favourite cream. You know what else is triple thick? Your chin. You keep tugging at the hem of your t-shirt, only to realize that it's your own fat that's squeezing your neck. You look in the mirror, blinking. Is that really you...? You keep recalling words that you've recently heard in reference to yourself. Plus size. Obese. Fatass.
You shake your head. A thought was forming there, but you cast it aside. With a deep grunt, you get up from the chair and waddle to the fridge. The cream is waiting for you.
"Can you - huff - slow down a little?"
Your friend stops in the middle of the store isle. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, just - oof - need to - get something - huff - from here."
You can feel your face must be red hot. At the same time, a breeze touches your underbelly. Your belly hang escaped your 4XL shirt again. It's probably time to go up a size, but you like this shirt. You'll retire it when you rip it open.
You rest your fat-laden arms on a trolley. Not for the first time, you think about those clever mobility scooters. Oh, how you wish you had one. Maybe then, your trunk thighs wouldn't rub themselves raw.
You faintly point to the fridge, where the cartons of heavy cream are waiting for you. Your friend reaches there for you hesitantly, taking one carton.
Your friend's eyes widen, but they add another one to your basket.
"How many of these do you drink?"
You shake your head, feeling your cheeks wobble. "Just - huff - I'll tell you when to stop."
One, two, three... ten cartons land in your cart.
Enough. That's a funny word. Not a word you use often these days. As you waddle down the isle, you think to yourself: next time, you'll probably buy eleven cartons.
