Lardycake

People call me fat and that's not fair. I'm not fat, I'm just large stomached. It's a problem with my eating genes. I have a digestion that's slower than my mouth. Anyone could get it.

In the old days I used to exercise. Apart from the bus ride I always walked all the way to the supermarket and even pushed my own trolley. At first I used to choose. Cheese and onion crisps or salt and vinegar? Or one of those new flavours? Pies or pasties? Chocolate buns or chocolate cakes? Then I got too well-proportioned to fit on the bus so I had to walk there. By the time I got to the shop I was so hungry I didn't care what I bought as long as it was proper food. I'd rush to the checkout and stand there with the sweat pouring off me, wanting to scream at the people ahead of my in the queue to get out of the way, trying not to move to conserve energy.

The checkout girls that knew me used to put cakes through the till first. As soon as they'd rung them up I'd claw my way into the packaging and stuff them into my mouth. The girls that didn't know me just put through any old thing. More than once I stood there with my arm in a breakfast cereal packet, shoveling handfuls of the stuff into my mouth, almost choking until they put the sweetened milk through and I could wash it down.

That was a long time ago. I haven't left the house since 2001 and haven't moved from my bed for years. I lie here thinking of food and wondering what they will bring me. It isn't a bad life. The doctor says I won't be around for much longer but I reckon I'll still be here to see my thirty-fifth birthday. I've even made a bet with myself about it. All the chips I can eat if I win, and if I lose the worms can start eating me. I'll be a nice treat for them.

I feel tired now. So tired. I'll have a little nap before my dinner. I should tell the nurse but I can't reach the bell unless I move my arm and it's so much easier not to.