My Dad thinks I'm fat and my mom thinks I'm on drugs.
Exhibits A and XXXL:
At left you will notice a headband. It is my latest accessory craze. I have another blue one and a beige bandana with no intention of quitting. Unfortunately, my mother sees this as a gateway clothing item… signifying my descent to the dark side of drugs and using them. I found this out in as many words from her mouth… I thought she just didn't like the look of it. Turns out she thinks the headband is hiding my sprouting horns, or even worse… crackhouses.]
I'm on a bit of a retro bender, okay Mom? Is it so wrong that I'm finally trying to escape this prep-lame fashion sense infused by the popular kids in middle school? Damn, lady. I grew out of steak fingers, why can't you let the Old Navy go? You were the one who was a teen in the 60's. It's all for fun.
At right, that's my gut. It is both increasingly hairy, as well as increasingly present. A double threat if you will, not to be confused with a double treat such as Dr. Pretzels* but I assure you the two are related.
*Dr. Pepper and Pretzels, unique salty/sweet flavor combination. Bite and swig. Also known as a “meal” on certain nights.
Okay dad, so I've packed on the poundage. But you are the last person to talk… except from experience. The worst thing is that it affects me. As much as I'd like to be angry at those comments, the best I can stir up is a half-simmer of stewing muttery Psh's and Whatevers.
I don't know how my diet changed, I blame football… lots of exercise, increased appetite, and now in college it's easier to drop the jumping jacks than the cracker jacks. I mean I have a lot going on in my life, and believe me, I'm trying.
You should see how long and hard I run when the cops break up one of my infamous cocaine parties.