11-12. Put Down That Donut. And Don't Answer the Door.

moving to Mexico City midway through my high school career was hard.

so hard, in fact, that in what felt like no time at all, i started to get...soft.

not in an emotional way.

...or just in an emotional way.

but in an, "Oh, my Jeebus...what happened to my biceps/abs/single chin?!" kind of way.

my inability to speak and make friends in the beginning was probably furthered by the fact that my mouth was perpetually full of raw teenaged angst: angst which took the form of many a donut.

soon enough, i was carrying the flabby weight of my emotions everywhere i went.

most people were tactful enough to let me quietly wallow in my own misery.

no one seemed to think it was necessary to fan the flames of my Juggernaut-esque spiral into heftiness and anger.

except my mother.

of course.

when we moved to Mexico City, it was because of my dad's new job as a defense attache for the US Embassy.

as such, he and my mother had to regularly attend fancy dinners and events, where they'd have to dress up in fancy tuxes and gowns.

him the tuxes, her the gowns.

but my mother, being the cheap-o Korean that she is, was reluctant to go out and spend thousands of dollars on new dresses.

she found a solution.

one night, as i was laying in my bed, recounting all of the miserable facets of my life (which was bound to meet a premature end, either by my own doing, or by that of my cholesterol), a knock came at my door.

i sighed and stayed still.

another knock.

"Beekieeeeee."

the sweetness in her voice made me suspicious.

i didn't move.

"Beekieeeeeeeee."

a little more urgency this time.

i sighed again.

got up.

slowly opened the door.

and immediately regretted doing it.

standing in the doorway, a big smile on her face, was my mother...wearing my 10th grade homecoming dress - the likes of which would've, at this point, only fit around one of my thighs.

my jaw dropped.

eyes widened.

stomach growled.

"I need to borrow yoh mirroh," she said in her playful, "innocent" voice.

"...Huh?" was all i managed to say.

"You hab-uh dah biggest mirroh in dah house, and I need to see eep-uh dis dress look good."

silence.

"What do you sink?" she asked, as she slowly turned on the spot, lifting her arms above her head and striking a pose.

i tried to ignore the sudden hunger pangs.

"Do you sink dis make me look goooood?" she said, posing with every syllable, "Huh? How about dis?"

i closed the door.

"Hey!" my mother shouted from the hallway, this time in a more familiar tone, "I need to borrow yoh mirroh!"

i stood and continued to stare blankly at the door.

my stomach growled again.

she knocked.

and kept knocking.

finally, i sucked it up and reopened the door.

and walked out.

and downstairs.

into the pantry.

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*note: my mother is actually South Korean...*