For your reading pleasure, I present the following dramatic
recreation of my morning:
Alright! I walked for at least a half hour yesterday, ate a
decent breakfast and lunch. Let’s see how it went.
Good morning Mr. Scale!
… Ah. A pound heavier.
…
Well, damn. How did
that happen?
Oh, yeah. There was that Oreo bag that Dad and I were
munching from while we had yet another argument with Mom. On a side-note, that might
make a good drinking game. Every time Mom turns a random discussion to how Dad
never stood up for her (and how he never has and how it started back when she
was seventeen), take a drink!
And then there was the bowl of Frosted Flakes after Mom
stormed off upstairs after telling me I was too hard on her.
“I see a baby in your future,” she’d said, “I think it’s a
boy. It has green eyes and blonde hair.”
…
I begged her to stop.
In all fairness, when she asked why, my response did include
the phrases “You aren’t a prophet” and “you’re talking out of your ass.”
But, I tried to explain to her how much that hurt. Just like
it hurt when she was intent on making a baby blanket for us while we were
trying - A baby blanket that has since
been given away to a niece.
There won’t be a child that looks like Dan and me.
That’s the thing we’ve had to accept.
…Did I mention that the family is getting pizza tonight?
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