At the age of nine, following the doctor’s orders, my parents put me on a diet. The hunger was too much for me, and I began to steal food when nobody was around.
My mother was familiar with my devious ways and caught me red-handed in the kitchen several times.
Once I had to stuff a whole peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my shorts pocket.
I ate it later and nearly choked on some fabric lint.

After the first week, I got on the scale and showed Dad that I had lost three pounds. I had set the scale back to negative five before I got on. He said he was proud of me.

They eventually gave up, and I was doomed to a life of extra-large clothes,
and people calling me names like tub-o-lard and Porky Pig.


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