Ninety eight… Ninety-nine….
You hold the pose, rigid muscles rippling. Then you thrust your knees to your chest, leaping up with a beaming smile for the camera.
“One hundred push-ups,“ you declare, sweeping back your hair. “Phew, that feels good. Not bad for Day 3, huh?” You down a smooth glass of icy water while you check the timer. “Sweet. So we’ve hit five minutes. Let’s check out how our dinner’s doing.”
You tilt the camera to the steamer basket, lifting the lid on a bubbling bounty of shredded kale.
“Oooh, looking awesome.” You smile. “Okay next, we’re gonna add it to the stir-fry with some chili and garlic for the last two minutes. I think we’ve got time for one more exercise, don’t you?” You wink. “Let me know in the comments. Don’t forget to use the hashtag Quarantine Kitchen, and like and subscr –”
Click.
“Okay, so, Four-Cheese Pizza for Day 44. That’s Mozarella, Parmesan, Brie and Ricotta. I tried a little bit of each before I mixed them all together – they’re delicious! Mmmpphh.”
You dive your hand into the tangy mush of freshly grated cheese, washing it down with a swig of sweet orange soda. You tug your shirt, then seal the sloshing two-litre bottle. A burp escapes your lips.
“Mmpphh. Oh! Excuse me, sorry,” you squeak, patting your chest. “Where was I – oh yeah, so I preheated the oven to four-fifty fahrenheit earlier for ten minutes.” You toss your hair. “The pizza’s gonna bake for ten more, I thought maybe I could do some squats?”
You raise an eyebrow, teasing them with the curve of your ass before bringing it round to the shimmering window.
“There. So you can see what’s happening on the top shelf. Mmmm…” You dip your thighs, stretching the seat of your spandex. “Just look at all that pepperoni…”
You pause, lift, squat, and lift, squat…and lift….squat….lift….and again. You breathe. Again….and again….
“Man, can you feel it hotting up in here?” You itch your brow. “I’m boiling. Wheeew…” you wheeze.
You reach for your stool, pull it beneath you and settle down with a grumbling creak. You stretch your pale arms for another sip of soda.
“Sorry guys, getting a little thirsty,” you mumble to the camera. “I’m just gonna sit here and watch those bubbles of cheese for a bit. Damn, it looks yummy,” You swap screen, licking your lips.
“I’m really looking forward to this one. Oooh - let me know what toppings you wanna see me try next time. Don’t forget to –
Click.
“Yeah…so…umm….Day 183. Here’s my… uffff… here’s my recipe for creamy pork lasagna. It’s one of my favourites. Ugghh, that was heavy.”
You set the pot of lightly salted water on the stove. You squeeze the cramp in your soft arms, padding back to the cupboard for the bag of noodles. You step wide over the kitchen tiles, pulling at your shorts, nursing the rubbing flesh between your thighs with probing fingers.
“Here we go. We want five-hundred grams, plus the same amount of sausages…”
You pick up the hefty packet and waddle back a step.
“Like I said,” you breathe, nudging the door shut with a hefty hip. “It’ll serve six to eight people, but really…” You tip in half the contents. “Really… it’s up to you.”
The plastic crinkles as the pasta falls free. You pull at the hem of your vest, letting it ride a little up your stomach as you scrunch up the packet and toss it at the garbage can.
“Okay…we’re gonna let it boil for eight to ten minutes. Then we’ve gotta cook the meat, mix the Parmesan, lay the lasagna sheets over each other – it’s a lot of work, I’m kinda hungry already…”
You break off a portion of the chocolate you were saving for stout waffle sundae dessert.
“I’m sure you won’t mind if I…err…sit this one out.” you murmur, plopping your wobbling butt down on the stool. “I’m sure this won’t spoil my lunch, just a little piece. Mmmm…” You wolf down a palmful of squares, munching and gulping. “Mmmpphh. Yeah, I’m gonna read some of these comments while we’re waiting. Let me know what your favourite thing for lunch is, then if I’ve got the ingredients maybe later I’ll –”
“I know, I know, they’re not the healthiest, but if you’re having one of those days…”
You dip the last cookie in the batter.
“…then they’re the best. I mean, why not? It’s Day 300.”
You swirl the tongs in the frying oil. Your belly bunches and shifts on the countertop.
“They make you feel worth it. There we go, that’s the last one,”
You drop your latest culinary creation in the bowl.
“Deep fried Oreos. Voila.”
You clap your hands. Your butt does the same as you turn to the fridge, retrieving a long-awaited milkshake. Chocolate, of course. You flick the cap off the bottle and pump yourself with the succulent dairy stream, moaning and slurping. You take the bowl in the crook of your arm as you journey to your living room, side-stepping through the door, lungs yearning for the couch.
“Some people like to drain theirs first with paper towels,” you say, tilting your head, phone tucked into the flesh of your chin. “As you can see…I just like to get stuck right in.”
You flash a greedy grin as you roll your tongue around the first Oreo, fingers juicy with oil. You inhale the bite sized piece and licked them clean.
“If it’s cold out, if you just wanna spend the day in your sweats, like me…”
You lower yourself into the couch. The cushions blow up with a wheeze.
“…then they’re perfect,” You set the bowl on your lap, scooching your thighs, pulling the TV remote from under your ass. You slip your thick fingers into the dripping mound of batter, cheeks aglow as you push another past your lips.
“Mmmmpph. They’re super rich,” you mumble through a mouthful. “Every one’s like, a meal in itself…”
You chug some more milkshake. You rub your heaving stomach.
“And…mmmpphh….while we’re….” you swallow. “While we’re here, I thought I’d talk about some of the comments I’ve been – ”
You pause your latest upload, closing your eyes, and wriggling yourself comfortable again. Your bed creaks and groans. You blow the hair out of your face. You sigh.
“getting about my weight, and why I don’t exercise like I –”
Click. You swish the mouse and press play again.
“whale emojis, all of a sudden, it’s really…”
Click. You edge the cursor a little further along.
“So, I’m taking a break. I won’t be streaming daily anymore – I need to find out where all this is going, I need a little me time.” Your arms wobble as you reach for more Oreos. “I haven’t left my apartment in months; I’ve already found myself making a few lifestyle adjustments, but this isn’t over. Quarantine Kitchen will be back. I’m gonna whip myself into shape again. It’ll be better than ever. Later, haters.”
You let out a puff of breath. Your laptop leans, threatening to topple off your belly. You snatch it before it can fall, but slick with grease, your fingers let it slip to the floor.
You groan. You grunt. Hoisting a leg, your breasts jostle and tumble as you roll onto your side, steadying yourself, before you plant your chubby feet on the carpet. Your knees ache as you stand, gathering your laptop off the pile of potato chip. Your other hand drifts to the small of your back, soothing the strain while you lift your head and shake back your sweaty hair. You breathe in, then make the slow waddle toward your desk.
Your naked belly smacks into your thighs. Squeezing into the chair, you straighten the screen, letting your elbow rest on your love handle. You bite your lip, and dabble a message in the comments.
Day 423. I know it’s been a while.
You gaze at your puffy reflection in the mirror.
I wanted to cook for you today, but I’m exhausted, you type. Somebody wanna recommend somewhere for takeout?
stormborns
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