"Norma, you have a serious problem."

Which problem? My mess of a room, that math test, my...

"You need to gain some weight."

This again. "Mom, I feel fine."

"It doesn't matter how you feel, it matters how you are."

That's her argument for everything. My room is dirty? I'm fine with it? That doesn't matter, it's what other people think. My grades are slipping to B level? I'm alright with it? Doesn't matter. Other people matter.

I'm sick of it.

However, she's my mom, I'm sixteen, so basically she's the reason I'm alive. I can't argue.

"Fine. How?"

"Really?" Her face lit up.

"Yes, just tell me how and I'll try."

"Alright. First of all, start eating a bit more. Now be-"

"But I-"

"Before you cut me off, I know you eat plenty but just a bit more. There's also some pills that I can get you a prescription for that should help. You have a doctor's appointment next week, we can ask about more then."

It's been a year.
This morning:

"Norma, you have a serious problem."

"What is it now?"

"You're overweight."