[dropcap]I [/dropcap]was a chubby child. But I wasn’t always that way. When I was eight, I was as lean as goat leg. Nothing but skin, muscle, and a little bit of gas from time to time. Mother said I was so skinny, I had to stand up twice just to make a shadow.

But everything changed when I hit eleven. Overnight, I shot up eight whole inches. And I grew rounder too. My pants got tight, my cheeks became rosy, and my appetite was out of control.

I ate twice the amount my classmates did. I couldn’t help it, I was always famished. Instead of one sandwich for lunch, Mother had to pack me two. Sometimes three.

Along with a baggie of Doritos.

And Twinkies.

Finally, my mother took me to the doctor to see if something was wrong with me.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with him,” the physician said. “He’s a growing boy. I was the same way when I was his age.” He patted my belly. “A little butterball. He just needs to eat healthier.”

Butterball?

When my mother pressed the doctor for advice, he suggested I give up mashed potatoes, swear off barbecue, and read my Bible. I’m almost certain my mother paid him to say the last part.

When I asked the doctor if I could still eat Twinkies, he just chuckled and said, “Maybe after you’re married, son.” Then, he wrote me a prescription for spinach salads and rice cakes. To finish up our consult, the doctor asked me which flavor of sucker I wanted.

Easy.

Butterscotch, strawberry, watermelon, green apple, lemon, and cherry.

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