Jessie's Journal (10/13/26) (Patreon)

Dear Journal:

Word of sissy getting fat has spread even faster than her ass.  I guess it makes sense.  Her gain didn’t really accelerate until last April, and the last time she was on public display (at least in front of friends and classmates) was graduation—and everyone looked chunky in those bulky black gowns. 

But then summer came, and she crawled into her pupa of self-pity.  When she emerged, she was another 30+ pounds heavier and the beautiful, carefree butterfly most people remembered—the one who flitted through life without a care in the world—was gone.  Replaced by a tubby grub. (Or was that a grubby tub?  Either way.  Take your pick.)

Now, word’s gotten out that you can watch the tail end of her metamorphosis (literally!) weekdays between 10 and 3.  Since then, Mel’s Diner has become more of a hangout than the 7-Eleven on Main Street. 

I don’t go.  I don’t want sissy to think I had anything to do with turning her into a public spectacle.  I see her afterward, though.  I see her shuffle through the door, looking disheveled and defeated.  Most times, she carries a large paper to-go sack.  A gut-busting order of chicken fried steak, or biscuits and gravy, or a cheeseburger and fries, or some other calorie-laden concoction prepared with malicious intent by Becky Tucker, the restaurant’s cook whose daughter, Tabby Tucker, was bullied by Michelle almost as much as me. 

She’ll give me a sad wave, or a “hey,” then she’ll hurry upstairs with her grease-stained sack as fast as her Plantar Fasciitis will allow.  Before her food gets cold and Mom and Dad arrive home to judge her.

--Jessie