BUSTED: My Mom Thought That My Protein Powders Were Steroids

The headache was strong and persistent. There was a little voice inside of me constantly repeating the phrase “Disregard all. Acquire muscles”. I tried to make it go away, but it kept on coming like a boomerang.

This time it was serious. You can postpone things only so much. Eventually, the denial and rejections accumulate and break the barricade.

I was tired of playing around. The decision was final. I was going to buy protein powder – the expensive kind with muscle men on the label, not some soy based garbage loaded with enough estrogen to make you feel sorry for the thousands of insects that you kill by walking outside.


There was a big supplement store located in the heart of my town. I used to like the place. It appeared complete – big muscles painted on the windows and tons of products.

I entered the store and felt like a criminal. What was I doing there? A skinny boy buying supplements? My posture went to hell. I looked like a camel.

I was unsure whether I had the right to do things like that, but I guess the thirst for bigger muscles was stronger than my fear and guilt. I was already in. There was no turning back. I was like “Quasimodo is the house, motherfuckers! I’m ready to get swoll!”

The consultant was a bald muscular guy with glasses. I found him stupid. I guess he sensed my evaluation because he immediately gave me the “what is this bitch face moron doing here” look.

Since money is money whether it comes from an 18 or a 10-inch arm, he suppressed his emotions and used the corporate “Hello! What are you looking for, sir?”

“I need a natural supplement. Just protein powder. No dirty products,” I said while avoiding eye contact.

The guy came back with a bottle of protein powder entitled “Eggs and Milk.”

“This is one of our finest. It’s very natural. Look,” said the bald guy and pointed towards the label saying “Eggs and Milk”.

I felt weird. Why was he trying to convince me that the natural form of eggs and milk is dust? Since I was too nervous and wanted to end this torture as fast as possible. I had no choice but to suspend this thought.

I bought the damn thing despite the high price. I was paying with my own hard-earned money. I had the right to spend it any way I want, right? I took the dust box, and once I was outside the store, I put it in my backpack. I didn’t want people to give me weird looks. Walking around with a muscle elixir in my arms would have made me uncomfortable.

A few short minutes later, I was already more confident.

I stopped at a fast food restaurant nearby for a bite. I looked at the people around me and felt sorry for their unmuscular existence. I was going to soon separate from the group of weaklings. I had the cure.

Walking around with a hidden anabolic bomb in my backpack made me feel like an alpha lion running in the wild. I was no longer one of those beta males who hold the hand of their cheating girlfriend while she is giving birth to the teletubbies of another man.

I arrived home, threw my jacket away and opened the magic box. The odor was new to me. I asked myself, “Is this the smell of muscles?” I sure hoped so.

I put a healthy dose of the powder in a fruit juice and consumed my protein cocktail. Then I carefully put the box in a safe place and called it a day.

The next morning began normally, but things were about to change.

I was completely unprepared for what was about to happen. It’s always like that – the craziest scenarios hit you when your guard is down. This unchangeable life law explains why some people develop an OCD producing negative thoughts and always think the worst.

The idea is that by imagining something bad you immediately limit the possibility for the event to take place because the element of surprise is removed. Sadly, the effectiveness of this method is not that high. Why? Because even one second with your eyes closed is enough for nature to load the script and run it without mercy. It was one of those days for me.

I was working at my desk when suddenly the door of my room opened violently. I felt like one of those guys caught with their pants on the ground during police raids.

My mother was standing at the door, holding my protein powder box.

“Do you know how dangerous steroids are? They talked about this on TV yesterday,” said my mother.

I was stupefied. I was no longer a wild lion. I’d detransformed into a little bitch.

“What are you talking about? It’s perfectly natural – eggs and milk,” I replied.

She took the bottle and hid it. The next day I looked for my magic dust everywhere. I needed its help, but it was gone for good.

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