So dinner with Dad was pretty nice. Then I decided to jump on the hampster wheel of trying to make my dad understand--even a little bit--about the diet and my health issues (not weight issues, health issues that cause the weight issues). He starts in about how people have to eat healthy, blah blah blah. While I wanted to shake him and explain, loudly, "DAD, I EAT HEALTHY. I ALWAYS HAVE. I HAVE NOT GONE A DAY WITHOUT FRESH FRUIT AND SALAD IN AT LEAST 20 YEARS..." I did not. I smiled politely, walked into the kitchen, and took a deep breath.
Who's crazier? Him for refusing to accept there's something wrong with my body, or me, for not accepting that he will never get it?
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