This was it. I was finally going to write my dad a letter and tell him exactly
how I felt. My paltry carb intake and slavery-inspired workout schedule had spawned two things: a lack of patience with stupidity, followed by a desire to make love to a cracker. It’s amazing how setting my life with goals and taking action changed my perspective on everything. The “everything” at hand currently was precipitated by yet another phone call from my father, complaining about my evil stepmother being, well, evil. I had offered my usual platitudes, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in his life like she had smoothed out hers by having them surgically nailed behind her ears last summer. Nothing worked. It never did. Read More...
“I have a bulge in my pants.” I was halfway through my Sunday morning cheat meal ricotta pancake when he shared this revelation. It’s common knowledge that you never disturb a pre-contest girl during her feeding, but Dante didn’t have enough circles of hell to place this travesty: disturbing a pre-contest girl during her cheat
meal. “I beg your pardon?” All things, including pants bulges, especially pants bulges
, could wait until I came up for air. “No, I mean, there’s something in my pants.” Well, it was a fine time for him to have this moment of self-discovery. My first thought was that his mother should have had the talk with him, but his mom had enough voices in her head to hold an American Idol audition, a drinking problem and at least one murder under her belt by the time he was 25. What should have been the “birds and the bees” might have become “Thorzine and felonies,” so maybe it was best. Read More...