I’m picking pieces of fruit out of the bowl as my mom cuts the watermelon up.
“I was watching Dr. Oz earlier,” she says. I internally roll my eyes. I turn to the fridge and pull out a bottle of water. I’m leaving the conversation before it can even start. “You know what you’re supposed to do for headaches?” she asked me. “No,” I’m still puttering around the kitchen for whatever reason, I probably should have went back to my room. “You’re supposed to…,” I cut her off.
“What, wish really hard?” I snap. I’m sick of hearing it, drink this, eat that, don’t eat or drink this. She looks affronted, how dare I say that about Dr. Oz and his afternoon TV show? I leave the kitchen, busying myself in another part of the house, still annoyed.