Being Right Or Moving On: Assisted Pistol: And Rick VS Dr. Wong On Therapy

Because what’s being right get me? Fat? Unhappy? Unhealthy?

It’s 1993, and the sun is splintering through burgundy curtains, announcing the day.

Soon, we’ll head to the Flea Market for comics and then come back to watch X-men. I remain motionless for now, having trained myself to wake up before the sun, monitoring my surroundings like an undercover agent.

Mom’s room is a graveyard, as expected. Snoring on the floor beside my couch, doubling as a bed, is my best friend. He hasn’t moved for 20 minutes. Lacey, our plump calico cat, is in the window, watching the world come alive.

Something comes over me. I become a ninja, slipping from the couch and into the kitchen. Victorious, I look back and marvel at the lack of evidence in my wake. Lacey is now sleeping. My best friend is still snoring.

It takes a full minute to open the fridge quietly, but it’s worth it. Inside are the remnants of last night’s pizza — my favorite…