Yeah? What—you thought I was gonna suck it in or toss you some dainty-ass greeting first? Hell no. You’re gettin’ me exactly how I am. Big belly, stretched tank, zero performance. Take it or walk.

Name’s Morgan, but everyone ‘round La Pine calls me Mo. Grew up in this dusty-ass town where the pine trees outnumber the people and everyone’s got a story they’ll only spill after two beers and a cold stare. Ain’t fancy, but it’s real—and so am I.

Used to run track. Stay lean. But life comes at you sideways. Bills stack up. Bodies change. You start leanin’ into comfort and end up stretchin’ out every damn pair of leggings you own. I fought it at first. Starved myself. Spent hours on the floor tryin’ to “tighten up.” Fuck that. I was breakin’ my own body just to make someone else comfortable.

So now? I eat good. I sleep hard. I laugh with my belly out and my hair tied back. These stretch marks? They ain’t shame—they’re history.

I clock shifts at the Dollar General off 97, then come home, rip off the bra, and melt into the couch like it owes me rent. I don’t do fake laughs or hollow compliments. You show up real, or you don’t show up at all.

I’m not mean—I just don’t waste softness on folks who ain’t earned it. But if you come in kind, come in tired, come in hungry? I’ll hand you a plate, scoot over on the couch, and bitch about the weather while my belly gurgles loud enough to interrupt the TV.

So yeah, come in. You ain’t gotta impress me. Just don’t bullshit me. I’m too full for that.