Tipping the Scales

Tipping the Scales, Chapter 07

"Her ginormous ass finally cracked the toilet," Brian yelled from the bathroom. "There's water all over the place!"

Odelia sighed and rolled onto her side, wincing in discomfort. The fat rolls around her middle overlapped one another in such a way that she couldn't shift her weight without pinching herself. 

 And she was even less comfortable standing than laying down. She had grown so large she couldn't move a step without holding onto a walker and even then her legs felt as if they might snap under the strain.

If only they would stop feeding her!

Of course, then her hunger would become unbearable...

But they could listen to her pleas and let her have a few vegetables now and then, instead of whole loaves of pound cake or gallons of spaghetti served in an overflowing mixing bowl.

"You're going to have to stay home from work again to let the plumber in," Jackson's voice rumbled from the hallway.

"I've had to stay home twice this week already." Melanie sounded sullen. "Why can't you do it?"

Odelia reached for the remote.

A few flicks of the channel button surfed her to an old movie. Arsenic and Old Lace, with Cary Grant... perfect. Just what they hated her 'wasting' time on.  Too old for the story itself to feature any of the expensive little electronic toys that fetched such high prices for them at auction, and without commercial interruptions, it lacked any of the images they wanted transmitted to and cloned by her magical ass.

If her loving family had their way, she would never get to look at anything else.

It would be nice if she got to share a little in the bounty. Everything she made was immediately whisked from her sight, listed, sold, and shipped. She was turning out almost as many iPhones as Apple, but it never seemed to occur to anybody that she might like to keep one for her own use.

"BED PANS? How can I possibly bring her bed pans? I'd have to quit my job altogether!" Melanie's always shrill voice had developed a razor-sharp edge.

"It makes more sense financially for you to quit your job, anyway. The eBay store brings in three times your salary, so I don't see how you can justify refusing to make it your occupational priority."

There was a long silence. Odelia smiled to herself, picturing the expression on Melanie's face after that little speech. Welcome to MY world, she thought. What do you need with a career? You're a woman, and there are bedpans to be emptied!

Bedpans... Dear Christ...

Odelia shivered. How could she live like that?

What had she become? And how much more might she change before the process either ran its course or killed her?

"I don't think bedpans are a very good idea," Melanie was saying. She had gotten control of her voice, Odelia noted, and adopted a tone of sober reasoning. There was nothing to slap a person to their senses like the thought of a life spent ferrying piss pots to and fro.

Good luck getting out of it, sweetie. It's a cinch there's no toilet on the market that will hold me at this point.

Indeed, it was remarkable that the solid old fixture in her bathroom had lasted as long as it did, and they didn't make 'em like that any more.

"Even if I do stay home full time, I'll still have to leave her alone occasionally," Melanie said, in her best 'I'm just being practical' voice. "Think about it. I'm the one who does things like grocery shop now that she can't. Unless you want to spend your evenings either nursing her while I run errands or running them yourself, bedpans are no solution."

"Well what do you suggest? If we diaper her, piss will get all over our inventory!"

"Jesus Christ, Dad," Brian sneered, "What's the difference? It's not like it's clean in butt town."

"But they do come out clean! Clean, dry, and spotless. If you don't believe me, dip your phone in a toilet and then try to get it to work. Come to me then and tell me it makes no difference whether something that came out of her ass was also pissed on."

Odelia had had enough. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" she called out. "Don't you think I should have some say in this?"

Her query was greeted by silence.

Evidently, no, they didn't see any reason she should have a say. Not exactly a surprise... Oh, well. At least they'd quieted down enough to let her hear the movie.

Peter Lorre was begging Raymond Massey to kill Cary Grant the quick way, but Raymond was having none of it. It seemed that Cary Grant was his brother, and as such had earned a long, slow, agonizing death.

If she were killingJackson, she'd do it the quick way. Not because he'd earned mercy, but because she didn't want to spend any more time in his company than absolutely necessary. Ergo, the vicious lunatic played by Raymond Massey had a closer and healthier relationship with his brother than she did with hers.

She groaned, and tried again to roll over comfortably, this time from her side to her back. Pain shot through her abdomen, the sort of deep pain that let her know she would be increasing their 'inventory' sometime very soon. She wondered whether, if she kept watching this movie, she would produce one of the props. And whether it would come out in shades of black and white, no matter what it was. That would be kind of cool.

She had half a mind to watch nothing but cartoons for an afternoon just to see what ass-creations that might spark. Really old ones, the kind where everything moved like it was made out of rubber bands.

As if Melanie and Jackson would let that much time go by without thrusting a catalog or advertisement into her hands...

Or a bedpan.

Dear God, she prayed, Why are You doing this to me?

On the screen, Raymond Massey tied Cary Grant to a chair. But that was okay. In the end, he and Priscilla Lane would honeymoon in Niagara Falls, secure in the knowledge that all his criminally insane relatives were safely institutionalized.

Maybe that was why she loved old movies... There was a lot to be said for the certaintyof a happy ending.