Barnaby Bigglesworth was, to put it lightly, quite small.

He wasn't much taller than a teacup, and thinner than a broomstick.

But oh, how Barnaby loved to eat! He gobbled and guzzled, munched and crunched, all day long.

For breakfast, he'd have stacks of pancakes, drizzled with a waterfall of syrup.

He'd follow that with a mountain of scrambled eggs, each one as fluffy as a cloud.

Lunch was a symphony of sandwiches, piled high with every topping imaginable.

From juicy tomatoes to crunchy lettuce, from wiggly pickles to slithering salami, Barnaby ate it all.

Dinner was a grand feast fit for a king, with roast chicken bigger than Barnaby himself!

He'd gobble up mashed potatoes by the bucketload and gravy flowed like a river.

And yet, despite his impressive appetite, Barnaby remained as thin as a rail.

His friends marveled at his ability to eat so much without gaining an ounce.

Barnaby just shrugged and said, "I guess I have a super-duper speedy metabolism!"