The first quarter of 2008 is underway or as we like to call it in the Hula household, starvation season. Hubby started a diet Sunday. He’s participating in our Sunday school class’s annual Biggest Loser contest. I’m not, but we’re both going to be eating some bland food in the coming months because I’m not fixing separate meals, and it’s not fair to eat fattening food in front of him. Besides I want to be supportive of his effort to get back into his fat jeans…and then the skinny jeans. Actually, he would be happy with the not so tight they cut off his circulation jeans. Let the salads begin! Woo hoo! Seriously, it’s only Wednesday, and I’m already aching for fried potatoes.
I know it’s hard being on a diet, but it’s no stinkin’ fun living with someone who is on a diet either. Hungry people are craaaanky, and Hubby is no exception. Sample conversation:
Hula Girl: “Did you stop at the convenience store this morning and see your coffee buddies?”
Hubby: “Yeees,” through gritted teeth.
Hula Girl: “Was it hard not having a sausage egg biscuit and diet coke?”
Hula Girl: “What did you have?”
Hubby: “Whole grain cereal, *%$# it!”
Then there’s the reaction I get every night when he asks what we’re having for dinner and I reveal the low fat, low cal, low taste selections. He gets all excited because he’s finally going to eat again and then disappointed that fried chicken hasn’t magically returned to the menu.
Hula Girl: “We’re having grilled chicken with green beans and corn.”
Hula Girl: “Is there something wrong with that?”
Hubby: “No.” Sigh. Pout. Sigh. Pout.
Or the accusations that come flying when I disappear into the kitchen for a while and don’t make any noise. You know how you holler at your kids to see what they’re up to if they get too quiet? That’s what he does to me.
Hubby: “What are you doing in there?”
Hula Girl: “Mmm. Nothing. Just counting the toothpicks.”
Hubby: “Are you eating something sweet?”
Hula Girl: “Mmmumm.”
Hubby: “It’s that leftover turtle cheesecake isn’t it? You’ve got some hidden.”
Hula Girl: “No. It’s all gone. I swear.” Swallow. “Now.”
This contest lasts four months. That’s four months of grilled chicken and salad greens. Four months of butt chewin’s when I ask if he’s walked today and four months of sneaking bites of circus peanuts and candy hearts behind his back. Four months of gobbling down
dessert and snack samples at Sam's while he's preoccupied with the DVD's. Woo hoo! Let the good times roll!
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