If you're reading this, it means that I have finally attained a real, live blog. And thus, you will be witnessing a miracle. Seriously. I mean, a should-be-recorded-somewhere-by-the-Catholic church miracle. Because my mum was pretty darn sure that blogs and my food choices would eventually leave me in utter ruin.
Not that I was sure about blogging myself. I mean, think about it. There are thousands of people on the internet thinking they have something useful or well written to say. Can that be true for all of them? Obviously no. I mean, flip around some blogs. Count grammatical errors. You would fill a book with them in twelve seconds flat.
And it's not like I have anything special to say, right?! I mean, what right to the internet do I have that no one else has? NONE.
But one of my closest friends and one of my favorite teachers convinced me. They said I wanted to be a writer someday. This was good for me. Plus, I had all those real life stories that sounded like tall tales that if I was being honest, I wanted to write down.
I admit weakness. I agreed.
My mum? Not so much.
"Do you know how many mental illnesses are due to blogging and facebook?!" she exclaimed. She had a point. Some people get obsessive. But I was a little offended.
"I'm not going to go crazy, Mum!"
"You might, you don't know!"
"Mum, I have at least ten friends with blogs. None of them are insane."
She didn't buy it.
In fact, she didn't buy it for an entire week. Until we went and got ice cream. (I swear, if we smear the globe with ice cream, even Muammar Qaddafi will decide on some peace for a week. If I ever run for public office, the Global Ice Cream Campaign will be my running platform).
Technically, we went to Burger King. But I'm a vegetarian, so there's nothing I can eat there. Except for ice cream and french fries. Which is fine with me...
"You can't get all those carbs!"
"Not a big deal, Mum."
"When you go to college, you'll get diabetes."
This is something I've never been accused of before. At 120 lbs, despite my thirty-year-old-enormous-man eating habits, I'm more often accused of the opposite form of eating disorder.
"Mum, getting french fries will not give me diabetes."
"Yes it will. And you know what? You'll lose the circulation in your feet, and they'll have to cut your feet off. Those people you see around without feet? They usually have diabetes."
I couldn't help it. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.
I love my mother. I know she is always looking out for me, and I know she loves me. I'll even have her read this before I post, because in all honesty, I don't want to be one of those whiny teens, and I don't want this to be negative about her at all, because she's awesome.
But that was the funniest thing I ever heard.
"Yeah, 'cause I've seen so many footless people around, Mum."
She cracked a smile.
And after some discussion, we decided I could probably blog without losing my mind. Because that particular worry might be almost as ridiculous as losing my feet.
So now I'm in my basement, blogging while eating french fries.
I haven't lost my mind or my feet.
Yet.
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