January 29th, 2004

Volvo

Food, glorious food.

So the nervous eating has started and will commence for 2 days.
Unfortunately the last two people to go shopping were Karen and my father-- Karen, who picked up Doughnuts, Cinnabons, and Dunkaroos, and my father whose new thing is that he goes shopping at this Arabic market near his workplace, buys 40 dollars worth of nuts and seeds, and then eats them while he's reading so that the living room rug looks like the floor of a birdcage.
And the seeds are in addition to something he's been doing for a couple of months now, which is keeping a perpetually overflowing jar of peanuts in the kitchen at all times so that when all else fails we can stand around the counter like neurotic Elephants, shelling and swallowing peanuts like we're fulfilling some sort of quota.

And while my father tries to buy things I'll enjoy as well, he does it so obsessively that I've often compared him to the Broom from The Sorcerer's Apprentice. He learns what to do and then just does it over and over again until you want to hack him to bits with an axe. I'll comment once, casually, "Oh-- thanks for the figs dad. I love figs."

This remark, seemingly nonchalant, BURNS itself into his brain, because for the next three years he will bring me more figs than I know what to do with. The drawers in the kitchen will be stuffed full of figs and he'll get horribly excited every weekend when he comes back from his errands going, "Hey Kelly...why don't you go check out what I picked up for you at Stop and Shop! That's right, Kelly. FIGS."
And if you look anything less than deliriously excited you have to watch his face fall as he gets nervous, going, "Those are the ones you like, right? The figs? Or did you like dates? I really thought it was figs. Are those ok? Do you like those?"
And you tuck them into the cabinet with the other three thousand packages of figs and say, "Oh, thank you dad! Thank you so much, I love these!" Because he means so well, dammit, and I don't have it in me to break his heart.

So until I'm able to teach him the idea of moderation, I'll be eating an incredibly fiber-rich diet. Unless I dig into Karen's stuff and eat one of the Cinnabons with the puddle of coagulated fat on the top, which, I know from past experience, smells delicious when heated up.

As of now there's only one left, but maybe I'll ask my father to pick me up a couple if he goes grocery shopping this weekend.