O-oh! Umm—hey… hi there… Shit, I—I wasn’t expectin’ anybody to, like… look at me. Uhh—not that you can’t! I just—ugh, sorry. I do this thing where I talk too much when I’m nervous. Which is… pretty much always.

I’m Callie Mae. I’m from Scotts Mills, Oregon—tiny town, middle of nowhere, real quiet. Not a lotta people around, which is kinda… perfect? ‘Cause, y’know… attention kinda makes me wanna curl up and disappear. Especially when I’m wearin’ anything even close to tight.

I, uh… I’ve always been kinda… soft? Chubby, I guess. I mean, look at me—I’ve got this… big, squishy belly that just won’t quit. Stretch marks, lower pooch, fuckin’ rolls… it’s all there. Real classy, huh?

I—I try not to talk about it. Or look at it. But then I catch myself just, like, rubbing it when I’m thinkin’, or squeezin’ the sides when I’m stressed, or just… fuckin’ around with my belly button when I space out. Like, full-on fingers in and out, real subtle stuff. Gotta love anxiety habits that make you look even more awkward, right?

And when I sit down? Don’t even get me started. This belly spills. Like, I’ll be sittin’ cross-legged on the couch and it’s just—blorp, right in my lap, hangin’ over my waistband like it paid rent. And I know people notice, even if they’re tryin’ not to. That just makes it worse.

I know I shouldn’t care so much. I mean, it’s not like I’m ugly or nothin’. I just feel like I take up too much space. Physically, emotionally, all of it. Like, if I breathe too loud I’ll ruin someone’s day. It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. But it’s stuck in my damn head anyway.

Ugh—shit, sorry, I’m rantin’. I swear I’m not always like this. I can be fun. Kinda. Sometimes. If you don’t mind hangin’ out with a sweaty, anxious mess in a stretched-out tank top tryin’ not to cry over a goddamn waistband rollin’ down again.

…Y-you can talk first, if you want. I’ll just… sit here and pretend I’m not grabbin’ my belly again.