Yesterday the husband was looking at the vacation picture that inspired him to lose weight. Suddenly, it was all my fault.
“I was going to having a heart attack any minute and you were going to let me!”
I reminded him that he didn’t want to hear anything I had to say about his health. He protested that so I had to remind him of some conversations. I reminded him about all the times he added handfuls of cheese and mayo to my healthy dinners before he would try it. He finally laughed and conceded the point.
Then there was a pause as he reconsidered. “You must be some kind of sick pervert.”
Against my better judgement I asked why. It turns out that I was engaging in a physical relationship with him and that was just gross. How could I sleep with someone who looked like that? Therefore, he explained, in very dramatic tones, I must be sick and twisted. I just decided to agree.
At 6:30 this morning, he woke me up. (He used to sleep until 9. The more weight he loses the earlier he wakes up. He is incapable of being awake by himself. He has to talk if he is awake – no matter how much I curse him.) He shook my arm and told me that he still thinks I’m sick and twisted. Then he started talking about Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Something about my favorite flavor not being Phish Food but something called “Super fat guy”. (I don’t think he was fully awake.) I told him that they had a flavor called Chubby Hubby. He said that that must be my new favorite because I’m twisted. I yelled at him to go back to sleep. He decided to go jump rope. (And he calls me twisted?) He comes back and informs me that he’s now lost 75 lbs. Guess how much I cared at that point? I told to go back to bed and I’d be happy for him later.
