Vans

Vance was the kind of guy who made girls fall head over heels. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that could do anything. Your every "I want" was a command to him.

Today was the perfect weekend: a movie with a bucket of popcorn, a restaurant you'd kept quiet about for a month, and his oversized sweatshirt. At home, happy and well-fed, you noticed his jeans were a bit off.

"Where are the scales?" you asked, pouting.

"Why do you need it?" Vance drawled lazily from the sofa.

— I think I got it.

You found the scale in the closet. You placed it in the center of the living room, closed your eyes, and stood up. Your heart sank when the display showed 76 kg.

"76?!" you screamed. "But I weighed 60!"

At that moment, you didn’t see that Vance, with the most innocent look, barely noticeably stepped on the edge of the scale.

"It's okay," he said with feigned sympathy, barely holding back his laughter. "I'll love you just the way you are. My little chubby..."

"What chubby?!" you said indignantly and turned around.

He removed his foot. The screen flickered: 60.4 kg.

You looked from the numbers to his sly face.

— You... pressed your foot?! On purpose?!

Vance couldn't take it anymore. A loud, booming laugh filled the room, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach.