sorry ladies im taken

Domestic bliss hit me hard. They seemed to love cooking, and I loved what they made. After every meal they would ask what I thought and do their best to encourage seconds and thirds, but no matter how much I ate there was always plenty leftover. I didn’t notice the way portions seemed to grow even as my wardrobe shrank, nor the way they learned my tastes so that I couldn’t resist another bite.

The next year passed quickly, and our little routine started to show cracks. First I would be so full after dinner that they would sit next to me and rub my belly for a few minutes before I could stand to begin cleaning. Next, standing at the sink became too much of a workout so I began to pull a chair in front of the sink every night. They made sure I never felt bad about needing extra help, always telling me how happy they were to see me enjoying their cooking, always cooing sweetly into my ear as they helped me deal with the consequences of my gluttony.

Every day there would be some new task they took over for me, soothing my anxieties and making sure I knew how much they loved to help. My weight skyrocketed under their care. Before I knew it, they were doing almost everything for me, except for the dishes.

On a night like any other, I had just come out of my feast induced daze and began the slow shuffle towards the dishes, using the chair I would need to sit in front of the sink as a walker. As I eased my bulk onto the creaking chair and tried to get into position, my belly pressed against the cabinets and my arms spilled over the countertop like normal, but no matter what I tried I couldn’t seem to reach the faucet. I could see them watching predatorily out of the corner of my eye as I desperately tried to shift and wobble my way closer, but after a few breathless attempts I felt their hand on my shoulder. “You must be so exhausted trying to do all that work by yourself tubby, why don’t you just let me take over?” They whispered in mock sympathy. They help me stand and lead me back to the table, glibly talking about how hard I’ve been working even as I barely make it back to my seat. “How about we switch things up? From now on I can do the dishes. Do you think you could take care of the leftovers for me?” They ask in the sweetest voice they can muster.