Photo source: Glassrope
Suna often makes fun of my ability to eat (or inability to eat neatly). “Poor Lee,” she says. “He can’t eat right.” At first, I thought it was funny. Then I realized that she isn’t the only one who thinks this way. All my life, people have commented on how I eat. I have come to realize that I have a serious eating disorder, namely
Stop laughing! I’m serious. I have SES. This is a difficult admission for me.
SES is a traumatic ailment with serious social and economic effects. Besides the embarrassment, there’s the cost of clothing for one. I can’t eat Mexican food without needing to replace a shirt. The chips break on the way to my mouth, inundating me with salsa. No, that’s not a cilantro cologne I’ve been wearing lately.
Then there’s pizza. Why do the slices always bend half-way to my mouth, dropping anchovies in my lap? I had a meatball sub the other day that squirted marinara. Luckily I was wearing my glasses or I might have been blinded.
Now I’m still looking for work, so I can’t get treatment under a medical plan. I’m not even sure if insurance would cover this disorder were I still at ALE. So, I am forced to humble myself and ask for help. For just a hundred dollars a day, you could help me overcome SES, preserve my health, and replace my stained shirts. Please send what you can.