So, Mom . . .

You know how I've always had a bit of an overactive imagination? And how our family went through that phase where we watched at least ten prime time murder mystery shows a week? And how I've been living by myself in my apartment for the last week? With no roommates? In the dark? Alone? With only a Nerf Gun for protection?

Well I've imagined about 48 different scenarios now that all end in just about the same way:

Consequently, I just wanted to get this out before . . . whatever happens.

First, when I was younger I used to pray that I’d get sick so you would make me apple juice and I could watch The Little Mermaid all day. It seemed like such a sweet deal to me. When prayer took too long, I took matters into my own hands.

Really, really sorry about that.

Also, you were so kind as to pack me a Capri Sun each day for lunch from first to sixth grade, during which time I always expressed gratitude to you and an undying love for this heaven-sent juice box that could only be compared to ambrosia from Grecian mythology.

I lied.

I sincerely believed that you enjoyed buying the stuff so I pretended to like it. Truthfully though, I thought they tasted awful and threw them away. As in, probably all of them.

Again, my bad.

Finally, whenever you made oatmeal, I would hide as much of it as possible so I didn't have to eat it.

I’m not telling you this because I think you didn't already know that, because we both know what was going on. Rather, I would just like to apologize because no matter how hard I try, I cannot make myself feel badly about doing it. Seriously, I hated that stuff.

Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest. Talk to you soon mom!

Probably.