My dad wants to get a six pack. Not a six pack of soda, not a six pack of beer, but abs. Like, movie star abs. Like Ryan Gosling in Crazy Stupid Love abs. (Remember when Emma Stone squealed, “Seriously? It’s like your photoshopped!” I can’t decide which one I like better, her attitude or his abs – If you haven’t watched the movie, go run now and rent it. It’s hilarious)
He watches countless of videos, does hundreds of sit ups, spends half of his waking hour in the gym, the list goes on and on. I dare not to laugh nor tease him since I still value the fact that my head is still attached to my neck.
One good thing that comes out from his obsession is that my fridge is now full of juicy, robust fruits. From our local exotics of rambutan, jack fruit and dragon fruit to imported berries and all kind of cherries.
I am now proud to say that when the clock strikes midnight and my stomach demands a little snack, I no longer nibbling and sinking my teeth on the allure of velvety chocolate bars.
I rip open the silky plastic wrapper instead and reveal the plump, proud cherries. It sit there on my palm with its glossy glory and when I bite into it, oh, the sweetness!
The cold from refrigerator hits my teeth with a bang while my tongue dance on the festivity of syrupy juice. My lips would turn red, like those red hot lipstick you wear to feel sexy.
Then, I would slowly close the refrigerator door and tip-toed back to my room, ready to sleep with a content smile on my face.