Future Fat Ass

Sheesh, this html thing is taxing on the brain and spirit. Per my readers' request (ahem), I managed to figure out how to change the font sizes, but my will to be technical failed before I figured out which of those codes goes to the heading on top of the posts. So that's still big. Also I'd like to put some pictures up in this mug and make it so that the sidebar doesn't hog so much of the page. But that will have to be tomorrow's lesson.

Tonight I head down to my mama's house. Y'all may not know this because I am so good at affecting a region-neutral accent, but my family's about as southern as they come. There's one thing that Jewish moms and Italian moms and Southern moms have in common. And that is the desire to force as much food into their children's mouths as possible in a short amount of time. To make this worse, my grandmother now lives with my mom. Double the bacon grease, double the fun. The phenomenon of being offered food approximately every 6.7 seconds is a normal way of life to me. Most of the time, I'll try some of whatever it is. Because here's the thing: if you say you're not hungry, they don't believe you. They just think they haven't offered you anything you like yet. So they keep saying things like "There's some leftover potato salad. No? I made brownies with pecans in them, you love those. Oh, you're not hungry? Ok. (pause) Well then just have some of this shrimp dip with some crackers, it's light!" It won't stop, so the best advice is: EAT IT. My Mate doesn't get this. Of course all his family eats are hoagies (that's what they call them) and hard dry pretzels, but that's another story. Tonight about 10 times he'll lean over to me and whisper "I told her I'm full! How much more can a person eat??" Watch and you'll see.