As his mother sat there yapping on and on about his aunt's surgery and the amount of money it was costing her and oh, won't it be nice for her to be able to walk again, he piled the potatoes high on his plate in a drip-castle fashion with tiny spoonfuls. He was hoping that if he went slow enough then it would all just stop when he was done. He thought this because it just wasn't fair for it to all stop without any effort; he knew this. So he put effort into everything. Pouring milk was a chore. Buttering bread was a colossal undertaking. It took him ten minutes to cut 6 ounces of steak. When he was finally done with the potatoes his dad looked up from the newspaper and croaked out a crack about aunt Joanne's fat ankles, chuckled to himself, and returned to the sports. He didn't even like sports.
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the guys: philogynist jaime tony - the gals:raymi raspil
