Wendy's

“All I’m telling you is, if you’re gonna talk shit on all the other restaurants in town, then you’d best put your money where your mouth is.”

You’re standing in line at your girlfriend’s favorite restaurant, which, not-so-coincidentally, she just so happened to be the mascot for. Dressed in her typical white-and-blue striped frilled blouse with a short skirt, if you held up her photo to the cartoon on the menu, you would barely tell the difference.

“Alright, fine,” Wendy says with a huff, her red pigtails bouncing slightly as she crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s the bet?”

“We’ll do it like that stupid documentary,” you say. “The one with Morgan Spurlock.”

“You’re gonna make me eat Mickey D’s for a month?” she says, her tone tinged with the acerbity that always flared up when you mentioned the other eateries in town. “I’ll just buy the rope now.”

“No, you twit. Wendy’s. One month, starting today. Nothing but Wendy’s. That’s it. You know what, just to sweeten the deal, if you do that, I’ll pay for everything you eat. But if you go anywhere else, then you’ve gotta pay for a month of wherever I eat.”

She thinks for a moment, but then gives a wry smirk and says, “Fine. I’ll take your bet.”

“Good. Now, what do you want to order? Lunch is on me today.”

Wendy rests one arm on the counter, sets her head in her hand, and bats her eyes towards the cashier. “I’ll take four Baconators, large fries, and a large chocolate Frosty,” she says, straight and even.

For a second, you can only blink. You feebly place your own order and pay the tab, then take the trays to the table in silence, Wendy boring into you with that same wry smirk all the way. “I’m beginning to think this was a bad idea,” you say once you sit down. “Are you trying make me broke?”

“What, you can’t afford a meal at Wendy’s?” she replies.

“I can, but - okay, wait.” You’re suddenly able to return that shit-eating grin. “What I specifically said was ‘Everything you eat.’ So you actually have to eat all that.”

Her cheeky visage doesn’t change. “Oh, I know exactly what you said,” Wendy says. “I fully intend to eat every single morsel of meat and crumb of fried potato on this plate. The shake… uh, I thought we could share the shake.” She quickly covers her slightly flushed face with the last comment, and you notice the second straw on her tray.

You peel off the thin paper wrapping and stick the straw in the thick ice cream. “Okay, that’s great and all, babe, at least you’re not just wasting my money. But that’s like….” You squint at the menu to try and read the calorie counts next to the items as you slurp up the viscous cold chocolate flavor. That blessed middle school math comes in handy as you try to tabulate it all. “.... at least 5000 calories. Aren’t you worried about...”

“Worried about what?” Wendy says, taking a big chomp of her first Baconator

“I’m just figuring you’re going to try this every day for the next month so -”

“So?”

“So you might... put on a little bit of weight.”

“Aw, you’re worried about my health. Dude, I’ve got the metabolism of a squirrel. And even if I did put on a few pounds… that wouldn’t be so bad, now would it?”

You can feel a flash of heat suddenly rising to your face. “U-uh. Yeah,” you stammer out.

“There’d just be more of me to love,” Wendy continues. “C’mon, Anon. I’ve always known you liked your patties extra thick.”

“Stuff it. Just - just eat your food.” A bead of sweat rolls down your forehead.

“Oh, wow, you do, you perv! Jeeze. I bet you planned for this too.”

“No, I didn’t realize that - I mean, I just thought you’d -”

“You thought I’d what? That I wouldn’t take advantage of you paying for me to eat at my favorite restaurant in any quantity I want, and thus fulfill your fantasy of -”

“No! I didn’t think any of this through. You’re giving me way too much credit.”

“Alright then,” Wendy says, rolling her eyes. She’s already nearly finished her first burger, and, with a big bite and a gulp of milkshake, followed by a handful of fries slathered in ketchup, she starts on the second. You’re barely nibbling at your own meal while Wendy quite literally stuffs herself with bacon, beef, and starch. Furthermore, you can’t help but notice that she seems to be squirming a bit with each bite of burger of sip of shake, her calves firmly interlaced below the table. A few faint moans escape her side of the booth to reach your ears.

“Are… are you alright?” you ask. “You really don’t have to eat all that. I don’t mind doing this once, but -”
“No!” Wendy snaps. “I’m gonna do it. It’s… it’s so good.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Alright then. I know you love this place but, really, it’s just fast food.”

Wendy pounds down the second burger. “No, it’s not! It’s the best fast food franchise on the planet. Always fresh, never frozen. Perfectly square patties with no cut corners.” She tears into the penultimate with a second wind of vigor, finishing it faster than the second, but each bite lovingly chewed and swallowed.

By the time she’s reached the final burger, though, Wendy is slowing down, giving you time to finish your own meal. Her stomach has distended into a hard orb pressing against the buttons of her blouse and bending the parallel stripes.

She moans a bit and stifles a burp. “This was a mistake.”

“In the words of Radiohead, you do it to yourself, and that’s what really hurts,” you reply as you help her up. Disposing of the trash in a receptacle, you let Wendy rest herself on your shoulder as you walk towards the door.

“I think you’ve proven your point though,” you say. “If you really don’t want to go through with this -”

“No. I’m gonna do it,” she replies as you fumble for your keys and unlock the car. “Because I want to. I have a whole month to eat the my favorite meals every single day. I’m not going to pass that up.”

She wraps her arms around you and presses her swollen gut into your crotch. “And because I know you’ll like it… or is that just a footlong in your pants?”

Breaking the embrace with a jerk, you quickly flop down into the driver’s seat while Wendy rides shotgun, reclining the seat all the way back to rest and digest properly. It takes quite a bit of effort to keep your eyes focussed on the road instead of her dainty hands massaging her bloated belly, and the occasional sensual moan snaking its way into your ear. This bet was a mistake.