Like all of my worst habits, sleep eating is my mother’s fault. She and my step dad each bought me a box of candy for Valentine’s Day. Hers were really nice chocolates in a little box and Jim’s were shitty chocolates in a box so big it looked like a movie prop. Every day after Valentine’s my mom would call me to ask “Have you eaten all your chocolates yet?” (She does this every year and not just for Valentine’s Day chocolates, but Halloween candy and Easter baskets too.) When I’ve eaten all the chocolate, no matter how long it takes me, she always says something like “WOW, you ate ALL of those chocolates! There were TONS of them. WHOA.”
This year I tried to make the candy stretch to the apocalypse so mom couldn’t pull her regular bullshit, except I should have known better because she always gets her way. I started devouring them in the middle of the night. There were mornings when I’d wake up with chocolate smudged on my face, coconut in my teeth, and sticky residue on my fingers. Fucking disgusting. I decided that if I hid the chocolates in a drawer, under a grip of magazines and papers, they would be too hard for my sleep-self to get too and she’d give up and go to bed. Turns out I’m about 100x’s more ambitious unconscious and would get into the candy anyway- the sole difference was the mess of magazines and wrappers I woke up to. I ate my Valentine's chocolates in record time and since I used up any enjoyment derived from lying to my mother by the time I was 16, I came clean and she was giddier than the time she argued with herself about Christina Ricci's "beautiful and youthful skin" over dinner*.
Either way, this ghost ship is making me fat and all I know is that I didn’t move to the city and get a job at a bookstore to look exactly like the fatass from my high school still works at the Kaady Carwash in
*"Some people think it's because of Botox, but I think it's a combination of her being really lucky and moisturizing. But a lot of it could be Photoshoped too".
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