~BHM, Gluttony - A man sneaks out to a buffet after his dieting wife leaves for the week.
As I sat in the kitchen having a cup of coffee, Mrs came bounding in. I am going to mother's for a week. We are going to diet together and see if I can not shed these pesky pounds I have put on. Those pesky pounds were the 5 pounds she had put on over the holidays. I think that put her at a whopping 120 on her 5' 7 frame. Still lagging a bit behind the 150ish pounds I had added on to my 5'11 body. After 10 years of wedded bliss, my bride remained a graceful swan. I more resembled a sumo wrestler. I had wed at a solid 180. My last physical revealed my present heft in the upper 330 range. Mrs had never mentioned my weight and I could not see any adverse effect on our relationship. She was complimentary and amorous, even frisky. Still I could not help but wonder if her diet declaration was a subtle recruitment ploy. Maybe I should join you. I could lose 5 pounds or maybe even 6 or 7. She came over and gave me a pat on my round tummy and told me I could come next time. With a kiss and a hug and squeeze of her bum she was off and I was alone with my coffee and a large jug of caramel mocha creamer.
I lounged my way through the paper and worked most of the word search puzzle before I finished the last of the coffee. As I folded the paper over I saw the brunch buffet ad for the Coach House Cafe, a local landmark for the gourmand. Since it was early I had time for a shower and shave before I ventured out.
I cleaned up my morning mess and turned the coffee pot off, washed my cup and saucer and headed towards the back bedroom to make myself more presentable. I had tried to grow a beard when I noticed a double chin, but Mrs. told me it tickled. As I spread on the warmed shaving cream I was drawn to how soft and round my face had become, The second chin had thickened and spread and my cheeks puffed up with just a hint of rose to them. I looked rather jolly, with an easy smile and a soft manner. My shave complete I stripped off my pajamas and gently lowered myself into the steaming water of our oversized tub. The water jets pulsed around me and I relaxed for a good soak. I could become accustomed to a life of leisure. Once I had cleaned and soaked myself, I drained the tub and took stock of myself in the mirrored wall.
Head to toe I was the consummate fat man. From the aforementioned double chins to my chubby calves I had ballooned rather evenly. In fairness my tummy did seem to be surging mildly ahead of other parts. A very substantial ring of suet wrapped from the left across the middle and around the right. The love handles formed creases in my back fat and my tummy sag was obscuring my view of my nether regions. My pecs had softened, and now formed two well shaped breasts. One night after a bit too much wine, Mrs had remarked that she was jealous that my rack was bigger than hers. She playfully cupped my breasts and said, I wish I had cleavage like this. Nothing snarky just a bit more loose in the tongue than her normal self. But I remembered the twinkle in her eye as she caressed them. I had noticed that they were moving as I walked. Something I did not recall when I was slimmer. I thought about the Seinfeld episode involving the man bra. I wondered if I could pull off a nice lacy number...maybe not so much. I do not think man fur would accentuate a silky bra. Shaking off that thought I continued my assessment. My arms had turned soft and mushy, still muscled under but well covered with soft flab. I had small wings when I raised them to the sides, but then I also noticed my man boobs started at the sides, under my armpits. Even my fingers had become pudgy. I was no longer able to wear my wedding ring so Mrs. had gotten me a bigger one. Yes I was a tubby boy. I thought about how much I enjoyed being this size and smiled. Time to get going.
Walking into the bedroom I got out some underclothes. Mrs. had been busy, all my 1x shorts had been replaced by 2x and my t-shirts were up to 3x tall. The extra fabric in the tall allowed them to cover my tummy and stay tucked in. A fat man I was, but not a slob. I opted for comfortable jeans with a bit if give in the waist. 54 pants are a real eye opener. There is no questioning your growth when you have size 34 to 54 in the same closet. Suspenders are a fat mans friend. If you are a fatty and are still fighting a belt you are foolish. Belts dig in and cut at all soft flab, suspenders allow me to wear bigger pants that float gently about my proper waist without gouging my belly or having my belly apron hanging over and exposed. Nothing makes me feel fatter than sitting down and feeling my belly flow outward until it pushes against my waist band. I often find myself lovingly caressing that wonderful roll. I pulled on a golf shirt and straightened the collar. Slipping my feet into my penny loafers, I was ready to head out. Stepping out into the sunshine I realized it was still pretty cool and I retreated for a button up sweater. Seeing it dome outward at the buttons just made me look and feel fatter. Ready, once again, I walked out into the sunlight.
I had taken to carrying a cane. It gave me something to lean on when my feet started to ache or my back got a bit tight. It also added a regal quality to a fat mans gate. A swagger if you will. I noticed myself in the shop windows as I strode along. I reminded myself of those old postcard fat men, opulent without pretension or apology. I was the master of my day. I greeted my fellow citizens as we crossed paths, taking great pleasure in the notice they took of my size and presence. A tip of the hat, a shake of a hand. A friendly wave. Like an royal, I made my way to the cafe.
I remember the first time I smelled perfume mixed with the heat of passion. Intoxicating. Overwhelming. That scent that was so subtle in the bottle became a raging torrent on the neck of a lover. That was what greeted me as I stepped from the sunny street into the alcove of the cafe. An intoxicating aroma. Bacon and maple syrup. Sausage and peppers. Onions and garlic. The yeast of fresh breads. I was momentarily frozen in mid step as I inhaled the warm air mingled with such an array of pleasantness. I felt a stirring in my palate as well as my loins as I considered the events to come. Welcome, sir, the hostess said.
Will you be dining alone this morning?
Yes, just me today.
Well then let me show you to a table. She was a raven haired beauty with deep, dark, mischievous eyes. Her manner was flirty but not slutty, familiar without being too pushy. She took her hand and patted my tummy saying, We have a comfortable place right over here.
The tables were well spaced so as to accommodate the most well padded patron. I did not have to twist and suck in my stomach to squeeze through. When we reached the table I noticed the chair was solid. No concern about it buckling or embarrassing someone of girth. Sitting and scooting up revealed that the table height allowed my belly to rest just below the edge so I was not forced to lean over to reach my meal. The hostess bid me an enjoyable meal as a server came to take my drink order. One plate was set before me. Nice white heavy china, the kind fit for a royal feast. This was not the place for a stack of spare plates and an indiscriminate basket of rolls. This was to be an event, taken with the proper reverence and respect, not shoveled through like a feeding trough. The thick linen tablecloth and napkin held a crease and stood stiff, waiting to be worked. Even the silverware was solid, no flex to the fork and the knife was rigid and the spoon looked bigger than a normal teaspoon. I took a small sip of my cool water, to cleanse my pallet and walked the length of the buffet. I had left the plate at the table so I could have a look at the offerings without overloading early or missing some tidbit towards the end for lack of space.
The first dishes were breakfast fare. Bright yellow, fluffy scrambled eggs. A pale, creamy cheese sauce. Fragrant sautéed onions and peppers with a hint of garlic and butter. A chef stood at the ready to make omelets if you desired a more formal egg dish. Bacon, warm and crisp. None of the typical shriveled burnt pieces swimming in grease. This was thick cut and properly broiled to perfection. Each slice stacked at an angle onto the next slice all on a wire rack to allow the grease to stay warm at the bottom of the pan without the meat drowning. The sausage looked hand stuffed and tied. Wonderfully round and plump and a dark rich color, almost a milk chocolate shade. Maybe darker than that, but not scorched, nicely browned. Ham was being sliced off the bone for those who wished something lighter and there was a pineapple laced sauce to drizzle over the slabs. That covered the protein. Now the starches.
Potatoes, roasted, fried, scalloped, shredded and cubed. They even had the shredded potato and cheese casserole that Mrs. made for the holidays. Each dish was piping hot and inviting. The last one was another chef making potato pancakes to order with an apple compote and cinnamon. Two double boilers held grits and oatmeal respectfully. A quick swirl of the spoon revealed silk, no lumps or hard spots in either. Next to each was a ladle and an assortment of toppings, nuts and raisins and such. Keep moving, I told myself.
The third section was filled with every type of fruit I could imagine. Domestic and exotic. All lush and ripe and trimmed or pealed as needed. Kept cool on a bed of ice covered with the large leaves of some plant so the fruit did not get bruised or overly cold on the ice directly. A section of sauces and dips were right next to the fruit, as were some small dishes and tasting spoons.
The largest portion of the buffet was reserved for the breads and pastries. I felt flush as I gazed on each basket or tray or carousal. Never had I seen such an artistic array of baking. Breads were folded and braided. Glazed and buttered. Toasted and pale. Artistry in chocolate and sugar and dough. Cake and yeast offerings. Small and large pieces. All fresh and warm and gooey. Waffles were just coming out of the iron and the pancakes were so light they nearly floated. If there is a food equivalent to physical pornography, this was it and my response was none the less carnal, nor physical. As I looked up the same, dark beauty of a, hostess gently steadied me and held out a plate. Enjoy, we have worked so hard and our reward is the look in your eyes.
I laid down a bed of scrambled egg. Folded in the peppers and onions and then a smattering of the pepper jack cheese sauce. The hash brown casserole was next on my first plate, not so much that it would get cool as I ate. I had plenty of time. This was not a meal to be piled high and dug through. This was a spread that cried out to be savored and relished. I took just enough to make sure I would be able to enjoy it at the right temperature and texture. As I passed the end I did pick up a couple of rolls to assist me in nudging the bites onto the fork. Sitting down I tucked my napkin into my collar and spread it out across my belly.
In the movie, The Hustler, Jackie Gleason gets to a point where he is being badly beaten by Paul Newman. Instead of conceding, he takes a break and regroups. He goes into the washroom and freshens up. A warm towel over the face and a splash of cologne. Paul Newman is young and impatient, he is hard drinking and trash talking. Brash and foolhardy. Jackie appreciates the value of a short respite. I was in just such a place after 3 or maybe it was 4 plates. Not over by any means, just in need of a respite. As the waitress filled my water I asked, where is the washroom?
The men's lounge is in the rear sir. Lounge?
I should not have been surprised. The lounge, as it was called, was just as well appointed as everything else. This entire place had been thoughtfully laid out to accommodate a larger clientele. The stalls were wider and the stools taller. No need to squeeze or sit too low. The grab rail was more than capable of aiding the most robust patron. The coat hooks were solid and sturdy, able to hold the heaviest of jackets. The counter top and the sinks were even elevated so I did not need to bend too far over. After a bit of the complimentary cologne and a pass through my hair with a comb, I was ready to return to the task at hand. I was still a bit taxed. The next plate or plates would need to be lighter.
I had brought the morning paper's crossword with me and after filling a plate with fruits and light flaky danish, I settled in for a more relaxed nosh. No doubt I was engrossed because I did not notice Mrs. come in and sit down. When I notice the plate was void of danish I looked up. Well hello there, love. I see you have been enjoying yourself she purred. I was flustered. How long had she been watching my gluttony?
I thought you were off with mom for the week?
Half way there she called and canceled, something about a friend from college dropping by. So I came home and found you gone. I did find a newspaper ad with this place circled so I drove down.
Why don't you let me pay the tab and we can walk home and I will help you finish that crossword.
What about the car?
I will walk back later and get it, it is lovely out and the walk will help your digestion.
A walk it is.
I will be right out, don't forget your sweater.
When Mrs. came out she was carrying a bag of doughnuts, for breakfast tomorrow. We made our way up the street. Looking in shop windows and talking about what we might plant in the boxes that lined our deck. We had a high walled back yard with a small deck and a gazebo. We spent the warm evenings out there enjoying the sounds of the city and the wines we had discovered here and there. We were in front of a curio shop when Mrs. told me she wanted to have a look if I did not mind. An inviting cement bench was at hand so I begged off and sat down to people watch while she stepped in for a peak. I must have been concentrating on something because the next thing I knew Mrs. was clearing her throat. I guess leaving you to guard the doughnuts might not have been a wise plan she teased. I looked sheepish as I brought my hand out of the now empty bag. She dusted the powdered sugar from my face and tummy as she chuckled. Come on. I will get you home for a nap.
Slowly we meandered the last block home. I was very full. No I was bloated and even standing my trousers were uncomfortably snug. Once inside the house, Mrs. suggested I put on some shorts and a t-shirt so I would be more relaxed. I began to say that I did not have any left that fit but she cut me off, saying I know...I know...go look in the bottom drawer. True to form me needs had been anticipated and taken care of. The shorts were 58 waist with a string and the tank top was a 4x. I thought the top was a bit much until I slid it over my stuffed tummy and realized it might not be way out of line. By the time I came out there was a glass of soda and some snacks on the coffee table and a movie just starting. Why don't you sit down and rest and I will go for the car? I was being pampered beyond normal and I loved it. As I sat back I heard the door close.
Brunch
By fatmac
By fatmac
As I sat in the kitchen having a cup of coffee, Mrs came bounding in. I am going to mother's for a week. We are going to diet together and see if I can not shed these pesky pounds I have put on. Those pesky pounds were the 5 pounds she had put on over the holidays. I think that put her at a whopping 120 on her 5' 7 frame. Still lagging a bit behind the 150ish pounds I had added on to my 5'11 body. After 10 years of wedded bliss, my bride remained a graceful swan. I more resembled a sumo wrestler. I had wed at a solid 180. My last physical revealed my present heft in the upper 330 range. Mrs had never mentioned my weight and I could not see any adverse effect on our relationship. She was complimentary and amorous, even frisky. Still I could not help but wonder if her diet declaration was a subtle recruitment ploy. Maybe I should join you. I could lose 5 pounds or maybe even 6 or 7. She came over and gave me a pat on my round tummy and told me I could come next time. With a kiss and a hug and squeeze of her bum she was off and I was alone with my coffee and a large jug of caramel mocha creamer.
I lounged my way through the paper and worked most of the word search puzzle before I finished the last of the coffee. As I folded the paper over I saw the brunch buffet ad for the Coach House Cafe, a local landmark for the gourmand. Since it was early I had time for a shower and shave before I ventured out.
I cleaned up my morning mess and turned the coffee pot off, washed my cup and saucer and headed towards the back bedroom to make myself more presentable. I had tried to grow a beard when I noticed a double chin, but Mrs. told me it tickled. As I spread on the warmed shaving cream I was drawn to how soft and round my face had become, The second chin had thickened and spread and my cheeks puffed up with just a hint of rose to them. I looked rather jolly, with an easy smile and a soft manner. My shave complete I stripped off my pajamas and gently lowered myself into the steaming water of our oversized tub. The water jets pulsed around me and I relaxed for a good soak. I could become accustomed to a life of leisure. Once I had cleaned and soaked myself, I drained the tub and took stock of myself in the mirrored wall.
Head to toe I was the consummate fat man. From the aforementioned double chins to my chubby calves I had ballooned rather evenly. In fairness my tummy did seem to be surging mildly ahead of other parts. A very substantial ring of suet wrapped from the left across the middle and around the right. The love handles formed creases in my back fat and my tummy sag was obscuring my view of my nether regions. My pecs had softened, and now formed two well shaped breasts. One night after a bit too much wine, Mrs had remarked that she was jealous that my rack was bigger than hers. She playfully cupped my breasts and said, I wish I had cleavage like this. Nothing snarky just a bit more loose in the tongue than her normal self. But I remembered the twinkle in her eye as she caressed them. I had noticed that they were moving as I walked. Something I did not recall when I was slimmer. I thought about the Seinfeld episode involving the man bra. I wondered if I could pull off a nice lacy number...maybe not so much. I do not think man fur would accentuate a silky bra. Shaking off that thought I continued my assessment. My arms had turned soft and mushy, still muscled under but well covered with soft flab. I had small wings when I raised them to the sides, but then I also noticed my man boobs started at the sides, under my armpits. Even my fingers had become pudgy. I was no longer able to wear my wedding ring so Mrs. had gotten me a bigger one. Yes I was a tubby boy. I thought about how much I enjoyed being this size and smiled. Time to get going.
Walking into the bedroom I got out some underclothes. Mrs. had been busy, all my 1x shorts had been replaced by 2x and my t-shirts were up to 3x tall. The extra fabric in the tall allowed them to cover my tummy and stay tucked in. A fat man I was, but not a slob. I opted for comfortable jeans with a bit if give in the waist. 54 pants are a real eye opener. There is no questioning your growth when you have size 34 to 54 in the same closet. Suspenders are a fat mans friend. If you are a fatty and are still fighting a belt you are foolish. Belts dig in and cut at all soft flab, suspenders allow me to wear bigger pants that float gently about my proper waist without gouging my belly or having my belly apron hanging over and exposed. Nothing makes me feel fatter than sitting down and feeling my belly flow outward until it pushes against my waist band. I often find myself lovingly caressing that wonderful roll. I pulled on a golf shirt and straightened the collar. Slipping my feet into my penny loafers, I was ready to head out. Stepping out into the sunshine I realized it was still pretty cool and I retreated for a button up sweater. Seeing it dome outward at the buttons just made me look and feel fatter. Ready, once again, I walked out into the sunlight.
I had taken to carrying a cane. It gave me something to lean on when my feet started to ache or my back got a bit tight. It also added a regal quality to a fat mans gate. A swagger if you will. I noticed myself in the shop windows as I strode along. I reminded myself of those old postcard fat men, opulent without pretension or apology. I was the master of my day. I greeted my fellow citizens as we crossed paths, taking great pleasure in the notice they took of my size and presence. A tip of the hat, a shake of a hand. A friendly wave. Like an royal, I made my way to the cafe.
I remember the first time I smelled perfume mixed with the heat of passion. Intoxicating. Overwhelming. That scent that was so subtle in the bottle became a raging torrent on the neck of a lover. That was what greeted me as I stepped from the sunny street into the alcove of the cafe. An intoxicating aroma. Bacon and maple syrup. Sausage and peppers. Onions and garlic. The yeast of fresh breads. I was momentarily frozen in mid step as I inhaled the warm air mingled with such an array of pleasantness. I felt a stirring in my palate as well as my loins as I considered the events to come. Welcome, sir, the hostess said.
Will you be dining alone this morning?
Yes, just me today.
Well then let me show you to a table. She was a raven haired beauty with deep, dark, mischievous eyes. Her manner was flirty but not slutty, familiar without being too pushy. She took her hand and patted my tummy saying, We have a comfortable place right over here.
The tables were well spaced so as to accommodate the most well padded patron. I did not have to twist and suck in my stomach to squeeze through. When we reached the table I noticed the chair was solid. No concern about it buckling or embarrassing someone of girth. Sitting and scooting up revealed that the table height allowed my belly to rest just below the edge so I was not forced to lean over to reach my meal. The hostess bid me an enjoyable meal as a server came to take my drink order. One plate was set before me. Nice white heavy china, the kind fit for a royal feast. This was not the place for a stack of spare plates and an indiscriminate basket of rolls. This was to be an event, taken with the proper reverence and respect, not shoveled through like a feeding trough. The thick linen tablecloth and napkin held a crease and stood stiff, waiting to be worked. Even the silverware was solid, no flex to the fork and the knife was rigid and the spoon looked bigger than a normal teaspoon. I took a small sip of my cool water, to cleanse my pallet and walked the length of the buffet. I had left the plate at the table so I could have a look at the offerings without overloading early or missing some tidbit towards the end for lack of space.
The first dishes were breakfast fare. Bright yellow, fluffy scrambled eggs. A pale, creamy cheese sauce. Fragrant sautéed onions and peppers with a hint of garlic and butter. A chef stood at the ready to make omelets if you desired a more formal egg dish. Bacon, warm and crisp. None of the typical shriveled burnt pieces swimming in grease. This was thick cut and properly broiled to perfection. Each slice stacked at an angle onto the next slice all on a wire rack to allow the grease to stay warm at the bottom of the pan without the meat drowning. The sausage looked hand stuffed and tied. Wonderfully round and plump and a dark rich color, almost a milk chocolate shade. Maybe darker than that, but not scorched, nicely browned. Ham was being sliced off the bone for those who wished something lighter and there was a pineapple laced sauce to drizzle over the slabs. That covered the protein. Now the starches.
Potatoes, roasted, fried, scalloped, shredded and cubed. They even had the shredded potato and cheese casserole that Mrs. made for the holidays. Each dish was piping hot and inviting. The last one was another chef making potato pancakes to order with an apple compote and cinnamon. Two double boilers held grits and oatmeal respectfully. A quick swirl of the spoon revealed silk, no lumps or hard spots in either. Next to each was a ladle and an assortment of toppings, nuts and raisins and such. Keep moving, I told myself.
The third section was filled with every type of fruit I could imagine. Domestic and exotic. All lush and ripe and trimmed or pealed as needed. Kept cool on a bed of ice covered with the large leaves of some plant so the fruit did not get bruised or overly cold on the ice directly. A section of sauces and dips were right next to the fruit, as were some small dishes and tasting spoons.
The largest portion of the buffet was reserved for the breads and pastries. I felt flush as I gazed on each basket or tray or carousal. Never had I seen such an artistic array of baking. Breads were folded and braided. Glazed and buttered. Toasted and pale. Artistry in chocolate and sugar and dough. Cake and yeast offerings. Small and large pieces. All fresh and warm and gooey. Waffles were just coming out of the iron and the pancakes were so light they nearly floated. If there is a food equivalent to physical pornography, this was it and my response was none the less carnal, nor physical. As I looked up the same, dark beauty of a, hostess gently steadied me and held out a plate. Enjoy, we have worked so hard and our reward is the look in your eyes.
I laid down a bed of scrambled egg. Folded in the peppers and onions and then a smattering of the pepper jack cheese sauce. The hash brown casserole was next on my first plate, not so much that it would get cool as I ate. I had plenty of time. This was not a meal to be piled high and dug through. This was a spread that cried out to be savored and relished. I took just enough to make sure I would be able to enjoy it at the right temperature and texture. As I passed the end I did pick up a couple of rolls to assist me in nudging the bites onto the fork. Sitting down I tucked my napkin into my collar and spread it out across my belly.
In the movie, The Hustler, Jackie Gleason gets to a point where he is being badly beaten by Paul Newman. Instead of conceding, he takes a break and regroups. He goes into the washroom and freshens up. A warm towel over the face and a splash of cologne. Paul Newman is young and impatient, he is hard drinking and trash talking. Brash and foolhardy. Jackie appreciates the value of a short respite. I was in just such a place after 3 or maybe it was 4 plates. Not over by any means, just in need of a respite. As the waitress filled my water I asked, where is the washroom?
The men's lounge is in the rear sir. Lounge?
I should not have been surprised. The lounge, as it was called, was just as well appointed as everything else. This entire place had been thoughtfully laid out to accommodate a larger clientele. The stalls were wider and the stools taller. No need to squeeze or sit too low. The grab rail was more than capable of aiding the most robust patron. The coat hooks were solid and sturdy, able to hold the heaviest of jackets. The counter top and the sinks were even elevated so I did not need to bend too far over. After a bit of the complimentary cologne and a pass through my hair with a comb, I was ready to return to the task at hand. I was still a bit taxed. The next plate or plates would need to be lighter.
I had brought the morning paper's crossword with me and after filling a plate with fruits and light flaky danish, I settled in for a more relaxed nosh. No doubt I was engrossed because I did not notice Mrs. come in and sit down. When I notice the plate was void of danish I looked up. Well hello there, love. I see you have been enjoying yourself she purred. I was flustered. How long had she been watching my gluttony?
I thought you were off with mom for the week?
Half way there she called and canceled, something about a friend from college dropping by. So I came home and found you gone. I did find a newspaper ad with this place circled so I drove down.
Why don't you let me pay the tab and we can walk home and I will help you finish that crossword.
What about the car?
I will walk back later and get it, it is lovely out and the walk will help your digestion.
A walk it is.
I will be right out, don't forget your sweater.
When Mrs. came out she was carrying a bag of doughnuts, for breakfast tomorrow. We made our way up the street. Looking in shop windows and talking about what we might plant in the boxes that lined our deck. We had a high walled back yard with a small deck and a gazebo. We spent the warm evenings out there enjoying the sounds of the city and the wines we had discovered here and there. We were in front of a curio shop when Mrs. told me she wanted to have a look if I did not mind. An inviting cement bench was at hand so I begged off and sat down to people watch while she stepped in for a peak. I must have been concentrating on something because the next thing I knew Mrs. was clearing her throat. I guess leaving you to guard the doughnuts might not have been a wise plan she teased. I looked sheepish as I brought my hand out of the now empty bag. She dusted the powdered sugar from my face and tummy as she chuckled. Come on. I will get you home for a nap.
Slowly we meandered the last block home. I was very full. No I was bloated and even standing my trousers were uncomfortably snug. Once inside the house, Mrs. suggested I put on some shorts and a t-shirt so I would be more relaxed. I began to say that I did not have any left that fit but she cut me off, saying I know...I know...go look in the bottom drawer. True to form me needs had been anticipated and taken care of. The shorts were 58 waist with a string and the tank top was a 4x. I thought the top was a bit much until I slid it over my stuffed tummy and realized it might not be way out of line. By the time I came out there was a glass of soda and some snacks on the coffee table and a movie just starting. Why don't you sit down and rest and I will go for the car? I was being pampered beyond normal and I loved it. As I sat back I heard the door close.
