Memoirs of a Fat Girl

When I finally came upstairs this morning after spending an unusually long amount of time in my room, my mother asked if I wanted any breakfast. "Thanks, no."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Are you thirsty at least?"

"No."

If she noticed my red eyes, she didn't mention it. "Is there anything you need, honey? Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, mummy. You can get me a shot in the head."

She laughed, and I went back downstairs.

I wasn't kidding, though. I do need a shot in the head, because I fell for it. Again.