Whew, what a night! Just got back from D.Q.

The place was Friday busy, but that wasn't what kept me there so long. Basically, I spent my evening eating the dinner menu.

I'd made up a list beforehand: ten dinners (hamburger, hot dog, chicken - plus fries or onion rings) alongside a different drink and ice cream treat. Simply put, I was sampling one of every type of item they offered. Not as daunting as the legendary couple who'd eaten every item on the menu - but not bad for a single gal on a Friday night by herself.

Like I say, the joint was busy, and I had to stand in line for Bea to get to me. (At the risk of sounding whiney, standing in line for any length of time seems like an imposition these days: these legs have got a lotta woman to hold up!) Perhaps it was the hectic work night, but for a few seconds, it was almost as if she didn't recognize me. Then, a look of recognition swept across her face. I'd seen that expression before, I suddenly realized. "Denise!" she said. "How can we help you tonight?"

Handed her the list and four twenties. Should be enough, I said, but if I miscalculated, just stop when I've spent it all. Bea scanned, smiled and said it wouldn't be a problem. I headed for the nearest table, gratefully collapsed onto the chair and waited for my meals to be served.

First meal was an Ultimate Burger (might as well get the biggie out of the way first, I thought) - 670 calories of red meat - plus a side of fries, a medium cookie dough Blizzard, a Peanut Buster Parfait and a medium dipped cone. It barely dented my appetite.

Won't bother going through every serving: suffice it to say that by my sixth meal (chili cheese dog with onion rings, an orange Freeze and medium strawberry sundae), I was starting to doubt the wisdom of my dinner plans. But then Bea arrived with my seventh tray and my eighty dollars.

"Just got off the phone with the Dorians," she said. "And they said that your money's no good here."

"The Dorians?"

"Yeah, you knew they owned this place, didn't you?" she said, placing my chicken strip basket to the side of my nearly empty chili dog tray. "Bought it not long after the night that couple - who you seem to be emulating tonight - visited." She smiled, then gave me an extra-large bag of fries. "Don't want ya feelin' short-changed," she explained, then she returned to the front. Somehow, the gesture got me pushing aside my doubts. By 10:00 I was into my tenth dinner (single cheeseburger, Coke float and a banana split), long past stuffed into a form of caloric ecstasy that was stronger than anything I'd ever known before.

Yeah, that was some good eatin'.

You can probably guess how stretched my outfit situation was after two full restaurant assignments and my romp through the D.Q. menu. As I unsteadily got to my feet (can such profound gluttony produce its own form of intoxication?), I could feel a seam buried deep beneath my left underarm rend. I slowly made my way to the door, flesh quivering all around me, my dress plastered to my 600-plus pound body. Had to use each booth edge to support myself, and by the time I got to my car, I was drenched in sweat. Now this is an attractive image, I thought.

And yet, I bet Tripper wouldn't be bothered by the sight of me at all!

Picked up a box of Dilly Bars at the drive-thru and ate 'em all the way home. For some indefinable reason, I felt a strange sense of accomplishment: the Dilly Bars were just capping it off. When I got to my apartment, I found a note from Tripper waiting for me:

"Call me in the morning."

Can do, I thought - though I'm gonna be calling Doreen first. Looks like I got that catalog at just the right time . . .

See you Monday, blog reader.

10/19/01
[5:01 p.m.]

Tried phoning Tripper to see if he'd like to go out with me (have an idea that I think he'll like!) but was unable to reach him at the office. I realized I have no idea where the guy actually lives. Gonna have to do something about that.

10/19/01
[4:08 p.m.]

I wake this a.m., and it's like a rerun of yesterday. I stay under the covers, rewinding and replaying yesterday's Sinorak binge. And when I finally roll out of bed - not an easy task today, lemme tell ya - I find I'm on the verge of outgrowing "empress" size. My dress is not as tight as yesterday's, though, so I'm able to get to the boutique by nine o'clock. I see that the shop doesn't open 'til ten, so I park my empress ass on a nearby bench and wait. Next thing I know, I've just finished revisiting fantasyland, and my dress is splitting down the seams.

So much of my time, these days, is spent either eating or daydreaming about eating.

Sally forth into the store as soon as it opens and beeline to the ultra-big-gals' dress rack. Walking all the way to the back of the store gets me feeling winded, so I sit in the dressing room, and next thing I know I'm halfway through my Sinorak fugue and the shop owner is asking me if I'm okay in there. I am okay, but my old dress has seen better days. I shed its remains and quickly replace it with my "goddess" garb. I'm not swimming in it, but it's none too tight either.

Tossed my old dress into the trash and stepped out into the store to give myself the once over. Nothing like a trio of extra-wide dressing mirrors to give ya a full sense of your current self.

Who's this fat chick in the mirror?

A 5'6" Amazon (though with my legs outstretched so much, it looks like I've lost an inch), somewhere in the neighborhood of 560 - 570 pounds. A full-blown belly grrl with a paunch I can see draping down to my knees within my dress, a waist that approaches eighty inches standing, with breasts that come close to matching it & hips even larger to accommodate the weight.

Turning slightly, I can see the bulges of extra me that have developed along my back to support both my breasts and belly. My rear shelves out dramatically with a mind of its own. The face in the mirror looks both younger and older than I remember; weight has smoothed out all care lines, but the swollen lips and jowls are those of a voluptuary: a lifetime of dining excesses can be charted on it.

Sighing, I shrug and take my credit card to the cash register.

As she ran up my purchase, the saleslady Doreen gave me a closer look and said, "You were in here the other day, weren't you?"

I pled guilty.

"Weren't buyin' this size, though," she continued. "Largest in the shop, though I do sell from a line that goes beyond it." With that, Doreen reached under the counter and pulled out a tiny catalog. "Do a few private parties for some o' the larger ladies in town," she continued. "You'd be surprised at how many of 'em there are around these parts." Flipping open the cover, she indicated her card glued inside. She was, I saw, a registered distributor of Ample Services clothing.

I took the catalog.

Freshly attired, I left the store to my first assignment: another small-town restaurant in a neighboring county. Took a couple of sacks of MacDonald's to help me concentrate while I was behind the wheel. Got to the Inn just as 11:00 lunch hour was starting; left at 2:00 for an in-town assignment: a steakhouse favored by the business lunch crowd. Neither offering was memorable enough to spark any mental revisitings, I suspect. A really good meal stays with you (in more ways than one). Anything less may be fun at the time - but it's really just refueling.

Not that refueling can't be plenty of fun by itself, of course.