A Fatted Calf for the Prodigal Daughter
Since moving out of my horrible adoptive parents' home, a typical weekend has gone like this:
Mom wakes me at 9 am. We're going to a diner for breakfast. I order two scrambled eggs, bacon, and a bagel with cream cheese. Afterwards, me and my father go to Manhattan. It's a long ride on the bus and I'm feeling a little hungry again. My father is very sensitive to this and immediately rushes me to the nearest greasy spoon. I have a cheeseburger and french fries, plus a soda. Dad asks if I want dessert, but I'm pretty full by now.
We run our errand, but on the way home he claims he's feeling hungry and we stop again. I'm still full, but I feel obligated to eat something. The menu looks appetizing. This time I have a plate of barbecued ribs, more fries, and a soda. It's really good, but I can't possibly finish it all. Dad asks if I want some dessert, but I'm stuffed.
We go home. Mom announces that a friend has invited us out to eat tonight. They want to meet me, not having seen me since I was a toddler. We have some hours to kill, so I go online, then get dressed. It's another long ride to the restuarant. I end up having some mozzarella sticks and chicken scampi with penne. Mom offers me a taste of something off her plate, and I also have some of bread with butter. Everything is delicious, so I almost manage to clean my plate, but I'm really stuffed by this point. I don't order dessert, and someone comments on my lack of appetite.
On the way home, we pass an ice cream parlor. Mom asks if I want any. I love ice cream, so we go in and I have a scoop. Another long ride home follows. When we get home, I finish up what's left of my doggy bag (it's too good to leave alone). I go online, then call my sister in Ohio.
Having started out as underweight (you wouldn't be able to eat either if you lived with them) I've since quite happily grown to a normal size. Unfortunately, if I keep gaining at this rate, I should be nigh overweight by the end of this year.
Can't say I'm not enjoying it.