Jafit awoke upright on the couch to the sound of her stomach rumbling, head staring up at the ceiling. God, what happened last night? Did she really fall asleep like this? What time even is it? She bent forward to check her phone on the coffee table: 12:07 PM. It's a good thing cooking didn't meet Tuesdays and Thursdays, her big ass would have been kicked out the door.
Now that that was out of the way, Jafit began to make some peculiar observations about her situation. Number 1: she was absolutely, positively stuffed. Her normally small stomach was protruding cartoonishly beneath her shirt like a dome, taut and hard. The second observation was related: she was surrounded by trash. Not just any trash, mind you, but empty wrappers and containers of a binge gone mad. Her welcome basket was demolished, laying empty on its side in the middle of the floor, its calorific contents having been devoured and discarded around Jafit's butt and feet. But that's not all; she also spied the remnants of that whole gallon of milk, two empty tubs of ice cream, and a couple pizza boxes (did she order delivery?) among others. She placed a shocked hand on her engorged, upset belly and wondered if it's even possible for a human being to eat that much.
Jafit picked herself up off the couch and stared for a second at the cushion as the butt indent she left in the leather decompresses. She stretched her overtaxed back and scratched an itch on her thigh. What to do now?
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