Tripper has proposed.

He did it just before dessert. After lugging in my bags o' D.Q. (took him three trips out to the car), he got down on his knees and asked for my hand. Kneeling on the floor before me, his legs pushed against my belly and I could only see the top of his face peering over my paunch. I asked him to come to my side and repeat the question. He did, and, of course, I said Yes!

Guess that's it for "Purchess Blog." Maybe I'll start a new web log under my married name.

I finished my ice cream in a daze. Barely remember what I ate, just keep visualizing Tripper as he steadily spooned it into my mouth, a rapturous expression on his face. I know I ate beyond my present capacity: nowhere near the superwoman meals I'd been glutting on before, but still pretty stupefyin'. Don't think I'll be able to maintain this level every day, but I can see working up to it two or three times a week.

When we finished, Tripper clicked my cursor on the desktop's scale icon. One month after I started as a Mystery Shopper, my weight now registers at 1682 pounds: more than ten times my old weight and close to four-hundred pounds over the known world's record. But, then, I crossed over into the unknown world some time ago.

So now I'm back in the bedroom, one-handing the keyboard (tried lying on my back, but it's too uncomfortable tonight) and thinking about our life ahead. Tomorrow, we're calling a doctor who specializes in house calls for most of Ample Stuffing's clientele; he'll be giving me the once-over and doing the blood test thing. Later this week, we're getting married. It'll be a small ceremony, but you know the wedding feast'll be choice.

A final thought before I close this blog.

I've realized that whatever magic led me to my present state must've been sparked by my "blood signature" on that independent contract. And that both my gain and gorging escalated when I spilled blood on the company credit card, another type of contract. Well, getting married in the U.S. also involves signing a legal contract, doesn't it?

All I know is: I'm ready to sign it.

10/31/01
[8:48 p.m.]

Yeah, Tripper knew what was up. He returned from the Thai restaurant with half the food he would've brought a week ago. My meal went more slowly (I was taking time to savor everything), and though it was rough finishing the last two servings of shrimp pad thai, when we finished, I asked Tripper if he'd be willing to do a D.Q. run. He hadn't said a word about it, but I could tell he realized my mega-binging was over. The ice cream order was more for his pleasure than mine.

"Sure you want some?" he asked.

I nodded. My whole forefront was feeling heavier and fuller than it'd ever been, but I still wanted to do this.

Okay, he said, but first he had to clean up the take home containers - giving me time to change my mind. If there's one moment that made me realize just how special this man is it's this one. As he stooped to pick the dinner debris from alongside my chair, I scribbled down a list of ice cream treats for him to buy. Wound up making it twice as long as I originally intended.

10/31/01
[5:21 p.m.]

Trip left to pick up dinner. He came up front at five to lock the door and saw that there was still some candy left in the bottom of the barrel. Notched an eyebrow in my direction, then asked if I was having difficulty reaching it. Shook my head and told him that I holding the rest of the candy for after dinner. "I see," he said, and I could tell he knew what I was really saying. "Up for some pad thai?"

Always, I told him.

10/31/01
[4:17 p.m.]

I've been helping Tripper process orders today (for lots of reasons, this area is a hub for company deliveries). Lunch was a buffet tray of lasagna from Sinorak's: small fixin's, but then Tripper had a holiday surprise for me. After I'd scraped the tray clean, he rolled in a barrel of Halloween candy.

I'd forgotten what day it was. Think we'll be getting Trick or Treaters? I asked.

"Once school lets out," he thought, so I wondered out loud if I should be up front with strangers coming into the office. "Not to worry," he answered. There are currents, he explained, that shield certain sights from the mundane world. Not much of an explanation, but I'm growing used to that.

Tripper was right, of course. Late in the afternoon, the kids started showing up at the office. For treat, I simply let 'em reach into the barrel and grab a handful. Some of the smaller ones had to be hoisted up by their parents, however. The barrel'd gone down quite a bit before they arrived.

Aside from the usual giggles and gawks that most super-sized women know by heart, my appearance excited no unusual comments. At one point, the mother of a little six-year-old ballerina stooped alongside me to give her kid a boost. In the tinted lens on her owlish eyeglasses, I could see my reflection. Looked about half my actual weight, and I wondered if that was the way I appeared to them: side show size but not unimaginable.

I had a sudden giddy thought. Perhaps, I considered, this woman and her brood were seeing me as I really was. Maybe the mega-sized woman I see in the bathroom is the illusion: a consensual hallucination, some folie a deux between me and Tripper, as imaginary as the unbelievable meals that I've been describing all these weeks. Perhaps I'm as I've always been. A Baby Ruth-sized woman, fatter than most, but nowhere near the behemoth I've been describing for you. And the "healthily Nordic" girl of my first postings has always been super-super-sized.

Have I always been obese? I don't think so. But the only way now I can clearly remember being otherwise is through reading the early entries of this web log.

I pinched myself, felt the weight of my belly against my legs, looked ahead to my looming breasts, and this momentary strange conceit passed. As if aligned with this flash of doubt, my omnipresent appetite lessened. I began to feel my size more profoundly than I ever had before.

I picked a snack-sized Charleston Chew out of the barrel, and for the first time in days, I considered Saving It for Later.

Wonder what Tripper'll think about this?