It’s weird how much a diet affects my mood. Eating less turns me into a grumpy prick.
Now I’m eating more regularly and have become my old self, a happy prick.
For example, I saw someone wearing a hoodie this morning which read, “Authentic American.” Last week I would have gone into a hateful spiral of how, judging by the people who “represent” Americans, it means ignorant, rude, greedy, insensitive, selfish, etc. But today I just thought that it would be funny to have a hoodie that read, “Fake American: don’t ask for my papers,” or, better yet, “Superficial American: more authentic than the Authentic kind.”
Similarly, a birthday party I attended yesterday, for a friend of Coco’s would have upset me, because the parents are affluent enough to get a mini soccer camp organized, headed by four coaches, well-equipped.
But, as it was, I enjoyed it. They were good and had great coaching techniques for the little ones. Miyagi-like, but with fun activities rather than housework.
The best part was this, though. The coaches were Italian. Coco goes to an international school and some of the parents are French. One of the French dads started playing with the coaches. Of course I joined in after a while even though I had been restraining myself because it wasn’t a party for me – but, hey, I didn’t start it. And that’s sort of my point. As much as we pretend to be older, we always fall into irritating childish habits (“I didn’t start it, so it’s okay for me to join later”). And so it was with the other dad. Not only did he start playing, but, after the kids were done, he wanted to play a game and said that the teams were Italy against France, a rematch from the World Cup.
I was on the Italian team, so I called him a son of a terrorist whore and he headbutted me, but still got to keep his Adidas endorsement contract.