"Ok, Peter, up and at 'em!" his father said, sticking his head in the door. "Oh good, you're already dressed. We've gotta get moving if we're going to make it to the Chambeau's on time!"
"All right, Dad," Peter replied. He powered off the TV and got himself upright. "Just going to wash my hands," he said to the back of his father's head as the man left.
Peter was an easy going, somewhat lazy 'young man' as his mother described him. A typical somewhat spoiled teenager, he had never really wanted for anything, but he'd never really found anything that grabbed his attention or enticed him. OK marks, kind and generous parrents, and no love of sports or outdoor activity had made him a friendly, laidback 15 year old with no particular ambitions or particularly close friends. Good food had always been a minor vice, and since Phys Ed classes had been optional after Grade 9, Peter had spent the last two years growing... upwards, but also outwards. Not that he minded - neither of his parents were particularly athletic or sporty, his dad being an engineer and his mother an interior designer.
Tonight, the family - for Peter had two younger brothers - were off to his mother's friends the Chambeaus, who had invited them for dinner and entertainment. Peter washed his hands, then hurried his 200 pound frame down the stairs, his generous belly and moobs bouncing lightly under the snug, snazzy green silk shirt.
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