I'm fancying that I saved my husband from certain fatness last night. After getting home from a 90-degree day spent yukking it up at the Midsommerfest, he wanted to go grab some ice cream for himself. Reasonable. A spot for scoops is a block away, so I figured he'd walk the mission while I babysat the deck and our sleeping kids inside. Then he made a fatal error: He got in the car. Come on, one block? You're going to drive one measly block to get ice cream? Is he paralyzed? It's not like either one of us are that tiny to begin with, he certainly doesn't need to save himself a whole 200 steps to get ice cream (of all things!) into his mouth faster. I literally stood in front of the car, pulled him out of it and offered him a glass of ice water. See? Cold and refreshing! Not 300 calories!
You might think I'm cruel for that maneuver. We already know my actions for a wee waistline might fall outside the normal range of concern - Which is exactly why I'd kiss the feet of someone who talked me out of an impulse ice cream purchase. Are you kidding me? If my husband would have said "no milkshakes" during my pregnancies, I might not have ballooned into Veruca Salt. POLICE ME PLEASE.
[Correction 5:23PM - Make that "Violet Beauregarde". Apologies to all who were affected.]
Friends and family are so well-meaning when they excuse bad snacking. "Oh, it's hot! Get yourself some ice cream!" a different wife might have said. The girl of his dreams would say, ""It's summer! Eat ice cream! Come home as late as you want! I'll learn to mow grass!" Of course, she would have a fat, alcoholic husband and sunburns to show for her leniency, so I say my extreme nagging is warranted. Run that house, ladies. Don't think you're being nice by letting everyone get chubby!
My unpopular opinion is if you really love someone, you don't let them make poor choices. It's not like my husband is deprived of pleasure. He already had a lemon shake-up, buttered corn, some kind of meat pie thing (???) and a few beers at the street fest. It's a little ridiculous to pile some ice cream on top of that hedonistic afternoon, no?
I should add a little fauxcern that I want him to be healthy and stay alive and all that, but what it really boils down to is I want him to stay looking good for me. (I'm such a dude. I also hog the remote.)
Oh, and I put mean signs on the cupcakes for us. Don't you wish you were married to me*?
There is flourishing criticism for such "thinsporation" gorilla tactics, but if you're going to swing slightly one way or the other, I'd rather err on the side of superficiality and food issues than obesity. If you want ice cream, walk to get it. It's simple.
Filed under: Unpopular Opinions