My parents should just accept this by now

When my family came over to my apartment to celebrate my birthday, they began to dig in my fridge. (Let's not discuss why they were in my fridge because I have no idea. Let's just accept this as fact and move on.)

"James! Your refrigerator looks like it came out of Cribs. All you have in here are condiments and beer!" scorned my brother.

"Wait. I have beer?" I got all excited; I thought I had been out for at least a month or two.

"No, that's just a Diet Coke can."

I slumped back against my couch. I had hoped I was wrong.

Since then I have reclaimed Charity Case status among my family. It took me a few days to figure out why my mother kept inviting me to her house "for food." Not as in a meal, but as take-everything-we've-horded-in-our-freezer-since-Y2K. There was even a mention of how I should have gotten food for my birthday instead of presents, but that's already been established as a not-okay thing to do.

My dad called. He wants to know what I've been eating. My mother called again--she wants to know if I have put anything else in my fridge yet.

I did, I tell her.

I bought beer.