Thanks, I guess. Thanks for the fat neck. I really appreciate that out of all the things I could have inherited from you (money, intelligence, beauty) all I got was your weird fat neck. I got Dad’s moustache and broad shoulders, and your fat neck. I look like a fucking body builder, but I’m 5’3” and 115 pounds. Ryan got your long blond hair and acne-free skin, and I got your fat, ugly neck.
Listen, I’m not even sure where most of my body parts came from. My weak noodly arms are nothing like yours or Dad’s, and none of my features remotely resemble you — other than my fat neck, of course. I have these weird, hairy toes and knobbly knees, but you, Mother, have slender hairless legs and normal toes. What gives?
I know I’m smart, but you’re a brilliant writer and I’m good with numbers. Unlike you, I can stand for hours at a time without fainting. I’m taller than you, I weigh less than you, and I still have your fat fucking neck.
Mom, I know it’s probably not your fault. It’s not like you chose to give Ryan all your good genes and give your fat neck to me (unless you did). Dad couldn’t help that the sperm that wedged itself into your egg happened to have a strong ‘stache gene. I’m just pissed. You could have done better, and you didn’t. So thanks, Mom. Thanks for the fat neck.