First Bites: 10 Years Old

We ARE hungry!

When I first reached puberty I underwent a slew of embarrassing changes that I like to believe were more dramatic and humiliating than any that anyone else could have possibly endured. Part of my conviction in the superiority of my suffering is the fact that puberty started for me in the fourth grade, when most kids were still concerned with not having to play the blue power ranger during recess. My feet ballooned out to a size twelve while I still stood a measly 4’8” and I grew an Adam Morrison moustache before anybody knew who the hell Adam Morrison was except maybe his parents and his siblings if he has any. I’m no Adam Morrison biographer; he’s just the most recognizable person who had a moustache like my fourth-grade one.

These physical changes were rough enough, especially on my athletic aspirations (the clown feet threw off my coordination a bit), but of course the quasi-sexual psychological changes were the ones that completely crippled my social skills and had me making sour-warheads-candy faces every time I finished talking to a girl.

The ultimate manifestation of these tumultuous pre-pre-pubescent pubescent changes was the fact that every night I dreamt I was a hungry pregnant woman. This is apparent given I began my habit of sleep-walk-chowing, or sleep-eating as it is colloquially called, at this age. Unlike others who have suffered this affliction (gift?) throughout adolescence I ate only the most absurd combinations of food usually reserved for pregnancy clichés on terrible sitcoms. My dad came downstairs one night upon hearing a noise to discover me craw-deep in a jar of pickles and some strawberry preserves. Oops, I think my water broke.