Fuck Excel

— So, like, what’s all this junk... — muttered Tiffany under her breath as she dug through the endless stack of receipts and bills spread across the kitchen table. The papers stuck to her sweaty palms, and every new bill felt like a cruel joke: "Overdue," "Unpaid," "Sent to collections."

Her massive tits, barely contained by her pink sweater, kept threatening to spill out and, as always, were getting in the way — even now. And that was after nearly a year of living with them.

— These fuckin’ numbers... — she hissed through her teeth, squinting. — Why is everything so, like... dumb now? I used to do this stuff like, super easy!

Annoyed, she brushed her hair out of her face, her breasts knocking a pile of papers to the floor in the process.

— Shit! — she cried out and tried to bend down to pick them up. But her boobs immediately hit the edge of the table, stopping her from leaning forward properly. — Ugh, dammit, boobs! Can’t even bend over...

— Hey, what’s all the fuss about? — came a voice from behind her.

She jumped, looked up — and there he was. Josh. Still the same smug asshole in a grey tank top with a cup of coffee, like he just walked off the set of "chill but kinda smart boyfriend."

— Back to crunching numbers, princess? — he smirked, leaning against the doorframe. — Maybe you should just smile again and shake those tits — someone might forgive us a couple grand in debt.

Tiffany clenched her teeth.

— Josh, just, like, shut the fuck up! I’m tryin’ real hard to fix all this mess, okay? How’d we even get so broke? If you didn’t buy that dumbass VR thingy, we, like, maybe wouldn’t be so screwed—

— Whoa, whoa, — he raised his hands, — what’s with the attitude? You PMSing or something? Why the hell are you even digging into this shit? Don’t you trust me?

— I do trust you! It’s just... there’s, like, so much of this paper crap and it says “money” and “debt” and stuff... Look here— she muttered, trying to shift her boobs to reach the fallen receipt. It didn’t work: her left boob knocked over the cup again, which rolled across the table with a dull thud. — Ugh, who cares. Anyway, Josh, don’t yell, ‘kay? I just... like... wanted to see what’s goin’ on...

Figure it out. Funny word. Especially for Tiffany — formerly Jeffrey Simon, a sharp accountant who could throw together a million-dollar report with one glance at the numbers. That was a year ago, before he — now she — blurted out in a fit of frustration: "Fuck these charts and reports! I’d rather be some dumb big-titted bimbo than deal with this crap!"

So someone up there — or down there — must’ve been listening.

— Just admit it already, — drawled Josh with a smirk, — you just wanted to show off, didn’t you? Like, "Oh, look at me, I’m such a boss bitch, I’ve got my receipts!" — he lisped mockingly, mimicking her voice and making a boob motion with his hands. — Though, let’s be real, with a neckline like that you look more like… like some dumb assistant who lost her notepad and her brain.

Tiffany squeezed her eyes shut, feeling both shame and arousal hit at once. For some reason, she liked when Josh saw her as a woman — but hated how often that came with seeing her as a dumb woman and constantly mocking her. And yeah, she knew there was a lot of truth in that. Her mind had turned to thick jelly ever since her body changed. Numbers started to scare her like some foreign language. Excel sheets felt like traps. The words on bills would blur. Reading became a struggle with every damn letter. Sometimes she’d catch herself counting on her fingers… and still getting it wrong.

— Josh, can you, like... just say you’ll fix this? Like, the debt thingy, ‘kay? That it’s, um, our debt—

— Pfft!? Our debts?! Baby, what are you even talkin’ about? — said Josh, staring straight into Tiffany’s eyes, which were now almost cartoonishly wide. She looked like she wanted to say something, but the moment she opened her mouth, she nearly shut it right away. She took a deep breath, fluttering her lashes while Josh kept smiling at her.

— Ugh… So, you mean… These are… like, my debts, right? — she suddenly said quietly, staring down at the receipts.

— Hell yeah, babe! — Josh chuckled, sipping his coffee. — You’re the one who got us into this, not me. I didn’t order those five pairs of boots or that “sports bra” you never even use for sports.

— I thought... like, you were helpin’ me or somethin’... — she mumbled, lowering her gaze. Her tits, as always, made even sitting up straight a hassle. Everything about this body was too big. Offensively big. Her thighs rubbed together, her boobs didn’t fit in any bras, and her brain — it felt like someone had scooped out the logic part and stuffed it full of cotton candy that clogged up whenever anything "cute" came into play. When she first changed, she really thought, after a while, that Josh was a blessing. He helped with the bills, explained what went where. She even started to think she might be falling for him...

— Yeah, I’m helpin’. But why the hell did you even drag all this out? — Josh sighed sharply, clearly annoyed, and pointed at the mess on the table. — I told you: don’t stress. Just smile, throw on something tight. You’re a total knockout, baby!

Tiffany slowly turned her gaze to him. She wanted to say something. Wanted to argue. But her brain was getting tangled in the words.

— I... I just wanna, like... know how much, um... like, we owe, y’know?

— We? — he laughed again. — You, babe. You owe. I already told you. I’m just your boyfriend, helping you out. Because you’re my favorite little titty girl. Honestly, you should be paying me. I’m here, I’m sweet, I don’t even snore at night.

— Yeah-yeah-yeah... I got it... I just, like, wanted... um, y’know... — she mumbled.

— Shhh, — he leaned in closer, putting a finger to his lips and glancing down her cleavage. — Relax, Tiff. Daddy’s gonna help you with all these tricky things. Maybe you could go fix us something to eat, yeah?

Looking at him — that smug grin, the coffee cup, so damn calm — Tiffany felt something tighten deep inside. She wanted to go back. To Excel. To spreadsheets. To numbers. To calculating VAT.

But then her boobs shifted and slammed into her belly with a heavy bounce, reminding her once again — there was no going back.