Dear Journal:
Michelle’s team had a bye, so there was no soccer game on Friday. Dad offered to take everyone to a movie, but sissy wouldn’t deign to be seen with the family, especially on a Friday night, so we went as a trio. We saw the new Michael Jackson biopic. It was pretty good.
Sissy went out with friends, so I had carte blanche in the bathroom to experiment with makeup and outfits. I wore a long-sleeved shirt with some Capri pants from a couple of years ago. (Dad calls them my “waiting for a flood pants.”) I was surprised they fit. They were tight, but the shirt covered most of the pinching and bulging. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I looked good, but at least I didn’t look like I was hiding from the world.
Mom kept giving me sideways glances. Like she knew there was something different about me, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It would have been nice had she actually said something, but I understand her being gun-shy, especially with my history. Dr. Chen once joked that dealing with teenagers was like disarming a bomb—one wrong move and they’d go off.
Dad offered to take us for ice cream afterward, but I declined. A few weeks ago, I would’ve jumped at the chance for ice cream, especially without sissy around to scrutinize me for eating it, but I didn’t feel like it. I’d like to say it was improved willpower and self-restraint, but the truth was I felt a little sorry for myself. Most kids my age were out with friends, not their parents.
Ironically, had sissy been with us, I would’ve said yes. I’d have gladly taken a fat-laden bullet for the opportunity to see Michelle’s figure assaulted by some heavy-cream artillery.
Turns out, however, she was indulging plenty on her own. More details to come!
--Jessie