Ted tries on the 34s, which fit snugly, then looks up at the racks. ‘I wonder if I should try the 36s,’ he says to himself. ‘Seems like a huge size, but these 34s are really snug.’ He puts on the 36s, and they fit slightly loosely - the way new jeans used to fit when he was a kid, and his mother bought them with ‘room to grow’. ‘Given how much I’m eating, I need room to grow,’ he says to himself, swaggering back into the private dining room where Pete is stuffing himself with renewed vigour.
“Oh good,” you remark, between mouthfuls. “Those look comfy - what size are they?”
“I hardly believe it, but they’re 36s! No wonder the 28s were too tight. What size are your new jeans?”
“60s. Though the way I’m eating, I should have taken the 62s!”
“60s! What did you trade in?”
“48s. But they’ve been too tight for ages.”
Ted digs into a plate of seafood linguini with renewed vigour. Soon, though, he’s slowing down. “I’m starting to feel full,” he complains, just as the fat waiter comes by. You motion to the potbellied Chinese server.
“My skinny friend is complaining he’s full already,” you say to the waiter. His smile broadens as you go on. “Do you have some tea or something that would help him?”
The waiter breaks into a grin as he replies. “Oh yes sir - a special tea that will help you both to have a bigger appetite. I drink it regularly!” He pats his huge, globular tum, bows and then positively zips off, his huge body bouncing gently under his uniform.
You dig in to more Singapore noodles, and shortly the waiter returns, bearing a large teapot. “Here it is,” the waiter says, setting it down with a flourish. “He’s a bit small - just make sure he drinks lots of it,” he says, gesturing towards Ted. The waiter heads off bearing two empty trays.
You fill the teacups with the new tea - a fragrant, sweet-smelling pale green brew. “Have some tea, Ted,” you tell him, as he sits looking longing at a plate of beef with broccoli. “It does help the digestion.” To reinforce your idea, you lift your cup to your lips and drain it before digging in. As you set it down, you feel hungrier than before. “Go on, have some, it’s good,” you say to Ted.
“Cheers!” he says, as he empties the cup. “Hey, that’s smooth. I’m thirsty,” he adds, and pours himself a second and then a third cup. “This stuff is good,” he adds, and returns to his plate with renewed vigour. The fat waiter come in with two new trays of food, and winks at you over Ted’s head.
Fortified with the special tea, the two of you return to pigging out with a vigour. Plate after plate of Chinese and Chinese-American foods vanishes into your two hungry bellies. Amazingly, Ted not only keeps up with you, he actually seems to be putting away more food than you are - a reaction to the state of semi-starvation promoted by his parents, perhaps. After a while, the little female server appears, towing a cart laden with desserts - sweet cakes in sauce, brownies, cheesecake, fruit flans, even small tubs of ice cream reposing on ice. “Perhaps time for something sweet?” she asks before she heads out.
“Look at the time!” says Ted, sitting back for a moment and massaging his bloated belly as you’d taught him. “Should be getting going soon - but I’m having dessert first. We never have it at home.” He grabs a tub of ‘Decadent Chocolate’ ice cream and a spoon, and digs in. You join him, but start with cheesecake.
Forty-five minutes later, after finishing the tub of ice cream and a big selection of other desserts, Ted pushes back his chair and says,...
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