fat of the land

kids parties are a rare phenomenom for the bastard. by and large the boy's classmates hold court in class or have their little get togethers during the work week, which completely bypasses me and i'm sure gets me a shoe in for father of the year. but this week was the boy's birthday and i cut work a little early (ok alot early) to go to his class to have cupcakes and whatnot. today was his classmate's birthday. the nice lady had asked me to take the boy to this drop off party. drop off at 11 and pick up at 1. had to also keep an eye out for the guys who boot cars. no sweat. i kill time for an hour and then the stomach says, "get some food ya bastid." so i think , pizza.....sammich.....something else not good for me. then i remember this reoccuring conversation i've been having with the nice lady about food and hydrgenated oil and how it sits like a complex polymer in your veins and how it may just take my mortal soul (just kidding). anyway the bastard instead opts to make a stop and shop run. you see, the old man, who we can call the shrink", likes the staus quo. mainstreaming is good. eating the same stuff is fine so long as it doesn't have any salt in it, which really gauls the bastard. i don't do alot of salt but a little bit doesn't hurt in the right place. ida know, i think he forgets about his heart attack sometimes. he also forgets that the new way things are done in schools tends to mainstream kids and the bastard doesn't want that for his boy. he's bright kid and deserves to be challenged, not sent home with books that are far beneath his reading level. bnut i'm gettin goff message here, wanted food, thought of bad stuff, then thought better of that and went to stop and shop. lunch consisted of some watermelon, an apple and some camembert on crackers that boasted no hydrogenated oil. if i wasn't dining in the car in the parking lot, it would have felt more like a picnic but i had to settle for it reminding me of idealized versions of trips to europe i've taken with the nice lady. it was good enough give me something nice to think about while killing time in a parking lot.

—the bastard