A week after moving into our new house, the milk didn’t seem very cold. Then the popsicles turned to plastic bags of colorful liquid—drinkable, though hardly the treat they once were. But the tragedy here was that the icepacks we put in Silas’ lunch wouldn’t freeze. This sent Lindsay into a mild panic. I mentioned that I never once as a kid had an icepack in my lunchbox, but there was no reasoning with her. WHAT IF THE CHEESE IN HIS HAM ROLLS MELTS? THAT HAPPENED AT HIS SCHOOL LAST YEAR. Ham rolls, by the way are just ham and cheese rolled up into a roll.
Category: Things About Me
I’m convinced that an evil agribusiness conglomerate (not sure what conglomerate means) injects kids’ food with a chemical that activates the brain’s pleasure center. I know this is anecdotal, but whenever I gorge on Teddy Grahams, I feel like I don’t need to take my Wellbutrin that night. The yellow powdery cheddar cocaine that comes in a box of Macaroni and Cheese could cure the world of sadness. Sometimes I rub a little on my gums and stay up all night vacuuming toys.
Of course, when adults eat like children, they get fat and die. Sorry to bring it down, but as good as “Pizza Bites” make me feel mentally, the rest of my body is huddled in the corner of a prison cell begging for the warden to stop abusing it.
I think I’m the most emotionally and socially vulnerable while getting a haircut. Why do they make me wear a gown? Moments after sitting down, I already look ridiculous. My stylist always does some kind of diagnostic fluffing that leaves me looking like I lost a pillow fight. Then comes the washing and drying, which never seem to be followed by any combing, brushing or even patting-down. I’m left to scoot back to my chair missing only an IV stand to complete my mental patient on dialysis look. I’m constantly peering out the window to ensure that no one I know sees me because I can’t afford to move across the country right now.
Waaaaa, I’ve gained weight. But who doesn’t throw on a nice Crisco trenchcoat between the ages of 35 and 39? Meth heads? Good point. Like most modern dudes of my ilk, I’m not doing traditional manly stuff like nation building and wench buying. Back in our heyday, we could get fat and just be the sloppy kings who spill food into our ruffles. Now self-respect, at least for me, has more to do with looking decent (which is honestly the best I can do) than the size of the blonde babe’s rack on the back of my motorcycle. I’m not saying that doesn’t matter, but Lindsay has brown hair, and I don’t have a motorcycle because they’re super dangerous you guys!