For the umteenth time, I witnessed my father partake in a night of, let’s call it “reckless” eating, and for the umteenth time, I attempted an intervention:

“At any point last night, during your inhalation of four slices of pizza, three-quarters of a pint of raspberry-crumb-cheesecake gelato and a Tito’s martini, did your long-term health ever cross your mind?”

“You know, that’s a good question.” He responded. “Probably not.”

Probably not.