[Story] The Pig Shirt

You wouldn’t normally buy such a frivolous shirt, but the image of a cartoon pig gleefully embracing an ice cream cone catches your eye. You think it’s cute, and the more you look at it, the more you are enthralled by the pink shirt. You take it to the fitting room. It fits you like a glove, as if it were tailored to your exact contours. You take a photo. Best any man has looked in a pig shirt.
 

As you leave the store, all you can think of is the shirt. You enter a different store and grab the first shirt you can find. You vanish into the fitting room and switch into the pig shirt. You feel like more than the mere $7 you spared for this ridiculous addition to your wardrobe.
 

You stop by your favorite fast food place and order your usual. The first bite however does not provide its usual little pop of pleasure. Instead, it sends you into ecstasies you didn’t know were possible from something as commonplace as food. What was different about this meal, one you had enjoyed countless times before with no such revelation? You return for it the next day, and it does nothing for you. A fluke, you tell yourself.

Until, that is, you happen to put on the pink pig shirt again. A single sip of beer makes you sit up straight in your seat. You enjoy this beer regularly; nothing had changed except the shirt. You toss it to the floor and take another sip. Pleasant but mundane. The shirt goes back on and sure enough: a roundness of flavor that would convert a Mormon. As if a spring is releasing within you, you rush around the kitchen, sampling everything, each taste proving a new delight. At last, you pull off the shirt lest you explode.
 

You begin to find ways to wear the shirt whenever and wherever you plan on eating, even if it means wearing an extra layer during the summer. The extra sweat is worth eating with satisfaction. And eat you do: again and again, more and more. You know you should lock the innocent pig in your fire safe, give it away, lose it, burn it—but nothing can extinguish its delightful transfiguration of food from your memory. 

Before you can make a concrete decision, the shirt is wrapped around your torso again.
When you do laundry, you stop bothering with other shirts, which begin to fit poorly. Instead, you wait with a bare chest and prepare a lush meal as a reward for your patience. The warm, soft pig shirt flies back on, its soft folds covering you perfectly as if to remind you what the pig has done for you and asks for you to do for it. Without conscious resolution, you do its bidding. And you do it with enthusiasm.
 

The cartoon pig smugly surveys your ever inadequate wardrobe, confident he will outlast everything as your girth overwhelms size after size with a comforting regularity. And yet, the pink shirt still fits you perfectly, continually stretching in ways that other shirts refused to entertain. Any alarm you should feel is absorbed by the untiring delectation around which your formerly idil moments are now organized.
 

Your devotion to food becomes evident to others. Not only do their curious glances speak, but the mere taste of your enthusiastic creations dimly reflects the same satisfaction that fills your every day. Nothing but complementary, they leave you alone.
 

All save one.
 

Your best friend summons up the courage to ask you the meaning of your increasingly full figure. There is no disgust on his face, only curiosity. You find it difficult to explain how you feel. You aren’t struggling. No, your life is fuller and happier than ever. So you say as much, linking that fact directly to your newfound love of food. He says he is relieved that you’ve only changed because you’re happy. He points to your pig shirt. He likes it. You admit you do too.
 

After his departure, you ponder his comments about you changing. You run your hands along the smooth curves of your body. The pig shirt fit you perfectly, just like the (admittely snug) XXL shirts that now stocked your wardrobe. But hadn’t it fit you when you wore mediums? You flip through your phone to find that first first photo in the dressing room.
 

For a moment, you are stunned. You knew well you had moved up a few sizes—you had just admitted as much to your best friend—but now your transformation was starkly illustrated. In the photo, the snug pig shirt complemented the sharp contours of a man with an angular face, flat stomach, and slender arms. Your stomach flutters as you move your eyes to a mirror to see staring back at you the same man, now bedecked with a softness and comfort pouring forth with unflagging generosity that is still precisely encompassed by the same pink shirt. The pig’s cute visage nestles comfortably between the shapely summits of your pectoral region. The shirt’s fibers caress your belly, which shakes with mirth as you realize how handsome your face, artfully rounded out with fat, has become.
 

The next morning, you arise and grab the shirt in preparation for breakfast. You blink your eyes in disbelief: the pig shirt has shrunk down to its original size—the same size you had once been. In a panic, you rush into the kitchen, your body wobbling and jiggling uncontrollably. You pluck a doughnut out of the box you had purchased the day before and take a bite. Pleasure washes over you. The taste is just as good as if you were wearing the shirt. Out of gratitude, you eat two more doughnuts and busy yourself preparing a hearty breakfast.
 

At first, you feel lost without the pink fabric clutching your ample figure, but you quickly grow to prefer wearing whatever you want. Occasionally, your hand brushes against the shrunken pig shirt as you select your outfit for the day. A shame how it does nothing but bring a wistful look to your face.
 

On a warm summer night, your best friend remarks the pig shirt’s absence. You tell him you’ve moved up a size, prompting a shared chuckle. A thrill swells within your mind. At first, your best friend demurs: how dare he confiscate such a treasured memento as the pink pig shirt? You present it eagerly. He expresses surprises over its fit and comfort. He reaches for his beer and takes a sip. His eyes grow wide.
 

Your best friend leaves with a new shirt and a sparkle in his eye.