I don’t even know how to start this post, so I’m just going to tell you the facts.

My dad, as of Monday, started sending me these pictures:

He’s in Florida on business and decided it was his goal to eat “an even 12 dozen oysters by Friday.” As of last night, Tuesday night, he was at 8 dozen. EIGHT DOZEN OYSTERS.

This is my dad when he visited me in London (again, on business – why can’t I have a job that sends me cool places!) and I took him to Borough Market on a Saturday morning. He was only going to be in London four days, so he had the great idea of buying three full lunches for breakfast, but splitting them with me so he could maximize the food he was able to try. I was SO FULL at the end our three lunches.

I blame my dad for passing on genes that make me so hungry all the time that I require THREE meals in a working day (8.5 hours), and usually another meal before I go to bed. My food is often so heavy that a plastic grocery bag doesn’t hold it well, and unless I want to bring a cooler to work, there’s no lunch box big enough. So I wear a backpack to work and look like a school kid.