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Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Life According to Dadzilla

It's All Chinese to Me

It's another one of those evenings. I'm hungry and don't feel like waiting for Dadzilla to go to bed before I enter the kitchen. I decide on a bowl of cereal because I don't like the frozen dinner situation. It's been almost six frickin' years and he still can't remember which dinners I like. I've been asked what I want before and I know I've told him and written things down, yet some things never appear in the freezer, despite being on sale and economical.

“You can't have cereal for dinner.” Oh, good. More orders, as if I'm some sort of impetulant teenager who doesn't know what's good for themselves. “Why aren't you eating those frozen dinners? And what about the lunch meat? There's that in the drawer in the fridge.”

I'd like to know what kind of evil I've done in a past life to deserve this now. Surely, I was Vlad the Impaler. “As I know I've said before, I don't like those dinners or that lunch meat.” I know I'm kind of picky when it comes to meat. Whether in lunch meat or frozen dinners. I've made suggestions too. If you're in doubt, then get something vegetarian. I can almost guarantee there won't be a problem with that AND vegetarian items tend to be cheaper than meat items. There's also the option to just not get anything, which is WAY more favorable that going over the same crap over and over and over for years.

“Goddamn it! What the hell do you like?” I start gritting my teeth. The same thing every time. “I'm gonna just stop getting dinners. Ta hell with it!”

“And that's fine. I prefer it to this every other time I come out to the kitchen.”

“Don't be stupid. You've gotta eat. You're not Chinese or Vietnamese...”

“What does that have to do with anything.”

“Because you like that kind of food.” You've got to be kidding me. As if that's the only type of food I eat. As if non-Asian people aren't supposed to like Asian food.

I hurry up with the cereal and get the hell out of the kitchen and make a bee-line to my room. Dadzilla says something, but I'm not sure what it is since I wear earplugs an inordinate amount of time. I keep going to my room, because I just don't care anymore.

“Don't you turn your back to me, goddamn it!”

I keep going, trying to flee the one man Gestapo. This is the kind of thing that used to send my mother taking off for her room. Now, that's what I do.

<Walls No Ears>                                                                                <cont'd in future post>

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