He was about to pop. Seriously, he didn’t know how he had managed to eat as much as he had. He was afraid if he moved, he might be sick. His pants were cutting into his fleshy middle. There was still quite a bit of food on his plate, though. He had lost track of which number plate it was… fourth, fifth, might as well be hundredth as stuffed as he felt.

“I can’t,” he told his wife.

She scooted her chair closer to him and settled her hand on his swollen stomach. He felt her deft fingers against his underbelly and then there was a sudden relief as she released the button and zipper of his pants.

“Now you have room,” she insisted.

He groaned. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.” She held a forkful of food to his mouth, and he obediently took it. He took the next several bites she fed him as well, though it was a real struggle with feeling like the food in his stomach was backing up into his esophagus.

“I really have to stop,” he said, and she relented. The plate was nearly empty. There were only a couple of bites left. So close.

“You did really well,” she said. “I think that’s a new record.”

He just groaned in response, struggling to catch his breath and to keep all the food down. Right now he felt like he had to hold his belly to keep it from bursting.

After a few minutes, he had collected himself enough to say, “I didn’t save any room for dessert this time.”

“That’s ok,” she replied. “I have a feeling some of the pie might disappear before morning anyway.”

Support this podcast at — https://redcircle.com/words-to-eat-by/donations