For Who Could Hate or Bare a Grudge Against a Luscious Bit of Fudge?

Next week Drek and I will drive down to Texas to attend his family reunion (hopefully. If we go, this will be the first vacation this year that was planned, but not canceled.) Yesterday, over IM, Drek informed me that we will be earing matching t-shirts at the reunion, and he needed to know my T-shirt size. I answered that in women's sizes I am small or medium, in normal t-shirt size I am extra small. After a while he sent me this:

Drek: Dad is asking if you're sure an XS is right for you. Are you sure you're not a S?

I take a deep breathe. Before I go on, let me explain: I love Drek's dad. I adore Drek's dad. But at this moment it is apparent where Drek inherited his tact.

me: get me a large
Drek: Are you sure?
me: get me an extra large if you want. Tell your dad I'm planning on gaining a lot of weight.
I need room to grow from all the donuts I plan on gorging myself on. Now that you have a salary, I plan on spending the entirety of it on French pastries and a Segway, so I never have to move.

I'm not sure what part of th conversation Drek passed onto his dad, but a little while later he emailed Drek saying that Drek's mom had sizd up the family as soon as she heard we needed Tshirts, and informed him that I was, indeed, an XS.

Alas, now I'm thinking that large might be a better idea. I do like French pastries...