You had fallen in love with Bianca, an Italian girl you dated whilst going to school in Italy. She was slim, fit, tan, and had flowing brown hair. You had noticed that she was a big eater, no big deal, right?

You married her, and now you have realized the extent of her gluttony in the years following. She sat at her two reinforced chairs, slurping spaghetti from a large bowl, her pink top which fit during your honeymoon now is more of a bra, it failed to cover the boulder of a belly the woman you call your wife has built. Her ass pushes through the openings in the wooden seats, her jeans are constricted around her fat legs, blubber peeking through any opening. She happily continues to eat, in high spirits as opera plays on a speaker, this was her afternoon routine. She sat up and waddled all 600 pounds of her over to you, hugging you with incredibly fat arms. “Oh, how i love you my string of spaghetti, when will you decide to put some meat on your bones?” She pelted your face with kisses.