A Blimp With No Teeth

Freshly woken, in a stale state of mental murkiness, I opened the fridge and considered my options.

Orange juice boring, milk mo (ugh) I mean no , water water-ever.

“Hey, did you grow up in a barn?” My dad asks. He’s way too sarcastic and rhetorical for eleven a.m. —I can’t even respond at this ungodly hour. According to my internal teenage clock I really shouldn’t be expected to interact before noon on the weekends. I call these mornings my ‘lurking period’.

Gradually, I deduced that he wanted me to pick something and then shut the door. I’ve heard him use that saying before, when I left the front door wide open one time.

Tonic water f’in gross dude, prune juice gag, Coca-Cola ...touchdown!

I snagged the red can and shut the door fast, hoping to elude any hovering parental unit. I’d no doubt horrify them with my breakfast of runner-ups.

My dad appeared and saw what I had. “Jesus, you’re gonna be a blimp with no teeth.” The image settled.
Water looks pretty good, I thought.

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