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Chapters (67)
  1. Big Boned
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. One Month Later
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Copyright
  63. About the Publisher
  64. Backad 1
  65. Backad 2
  66. Backad 3
  67. Backad 4

“I was only taking a portrait shot of myself for my profile pic.”

“In your bra?”

“I wasn’t going to show my bra. I put a lot of work into my décolletage,” she said back.

What the hell was a décolletage? I held my hands up in the air. “Whatever. I’m going.” I turned and started walking out the door.

“I wasn’t going to show my bra,” she shouted after me, but I ignored her. “Do you want me to die alone and lonely? Is that what you want?” she called after me as I exited and closed the door. “I’m crossing the threshold of negativity and stepping into my positive purpose!” I heard her shout as I rushed down the stairs and hightailed it out of there.

23

I’d finished buying the groceries and was driving home while angrily shoving chocolate into my mouth, which I knew I shouldn’t be doing. The fact that I had a slightly underactive thyroid meant that I was susceptible to weight gain, and the fact that I was a stress eater meant that I really knew how to pile it on. If gaining weight was an Olympic sport, I’d probably take home the gold medal. I just hoped the medal was one of those chocolate ones wrapped in gold tinfoil.

With each mouthful, I tried to push away the image of my mother pouting into the bathroom mirror in her underwear. But I feared that image had been forever burned into my brain. I would be on my deathbed, almost blind, and I would still be able to see my half-naked mother acting sexy in front of the mirror, and what was worse about the whole thing? My forty-five-year-old mother had a better bloody body than me! It was gross and disgusting enough imagining my dad having sex in a hot tub but now I had to imagine my mom on some dating site sending sexy pics to men who would probably send her you know what rhymes with stick pics back!

They were my parents, not some horny teens, and yet they were acting like it, and I really didn’t know what to do with the strange emotions that I felt when I thought about that. You’re not meant to think about your parents like that. I felt traumatized, hurt, and angry, and totally repulsed. There should be a new word for this emotion. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I needed to try to push it away, hence the chocolate.

I had my mother’s credit card on me and, if I was a bad teen, I would probably go and buy something really expensive that I didn’t even need just to get back at her for mentally and emotionally scarring me for the rest of my life.