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And she is currently kicking the shit out of my fat kid self.

On Saturday I was laid low with the plague of all fat kids.

Vomit.

Now, any true fat kid will tell you that vomiting is the worst, absolute worst, thing that can happen to you, in your life. Food is our friend. How dare our food betray us and jump out of our body in ways that scar our throats and make us not want to eat?!?!?

By midnight on Saturday I was cursed with a fever.

By Sunday afternoon I was praying for death.

Then the ray of hope started shining. The fever let up, the fire in my body started to subside and the world was looking golden, once again.

Until my skinny kid came out and smacked my fat kid. I couldn’t eat or drink without an insane paranoia that everything would once again go terribly wrong. I spent Monday avoiding food and barely drinking enough liquids to stay alive.

And I had zero hunger. I spent Monday night dreaming of food and then freaking out at the thought of eating it.

Oh god fat kid, come back!!!

I woke up this morning and thought I had beaten it all. I ate six wheat thins.

Six.

And then the skinny kid punched the fat kid and I walked away from the beacon of hope.

I guess I’ll survive on air.


So I had a little chat with my mother. The last time I vomited I was in the eighth grade. 1997.

17 years ago. (Don’t get me wrong, there were many close calls, but no actual vomit in those 17 years. I lock it down and refuse to puke, I don’t care what happens to me!)

We distinctly remember that my mom was working at the ER and I was at home from school. I called her to complain that she wasn’t home and her response to me was “watch tv”. I asked her which tv since the living room tv had sprouted into two and I didn’t know which to aim the remote control at. It was at this moment that my mother’s coworker, Bonnie, decided that I was being tortured. You see, Bonnie and I shared a mutual love for cheese. She knew I was suffering the plague that kills fat kids.

And my mother just couldn’t understand.

Since I didn’t document the exact date of the 1997 vomit, like Jerry Seinfeld, I will document this vomit.

And it shall be a testament to my personal willpower to make it another 17 years or more without another vomit.

Because, my fat kid will win!


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