Sunday afternoon

This was the scene last Sunday afternoon. Dad has been watching football all day, fed me a miniscule lunch. Geez, I'm hungry. Made himself an enormous sandwich, even though he hasn't done anything but lay around. I'm gonna eat it if he turns his back. He won't even know it was me. Let's put this on the clock for reference sake:

2:01:04: I'm half dozing, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Operating by smell and sound alone.

2:01:30: Dad puts sandwich down on table. I can tell he's looking at me. Thinks I'm asleep.

2:01:35: Okay, now this part I'll never understand. He goes to the bathroom. I mean, the guy goes to the bathroom before he eats. Probably because it takes him almost twenty minutes to finish one little sandwhich. I'd pee first, too if I thought it was going to take me half the day to finish a meal.

2:01:36: Moving. Up on table, grab sandwich, swallow it on way back to napping spot.

2:01:49: Toilet flushes. Sound of running water (another weird thing about Dad, his hands have to be clean before eating). I'm curled up back in my spot, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

2:01:51: Dad back in the living room. Immediately sees that the sandwich is gone. Starts yelling. Staring at me. I drowsily open my eyes and stare back.

2:01:55: I don't understand. I mean, it was a good sandwich, but it's not like he even wanted it. He picks at his food like it's grass in the yard or something. And he's making this huge fuss about it... I think he may have an eating disorder.