Married people like to share taste buds, sometimes: Five years ago, I didn’t care for half the things I do now: Filet-O-Fish? Yeah right. Coleslaw? Not on your life. Sweet tea mixed with lemonade? Chilidogs? Granny Smith Apples sprinkled with salt? Each is now part of my personal bill of fare. That’s because morphing is a marital side effect. Hopefully your partner is refining you into a better (slimmer) human being. And vice versa.
As a newlywed, I believed grocery shopping for my hubby made me wholesome. Handwriting the list became a weekly virtue; each item was organized by the setup of the store, creating a seamless aisle-by-aisle walk thru. Of course, all that weekly shopping really packed on the weekly pounds. I gained the marital first-year fifteen. But now, when it comes to shopping, all I think about is the money. So I’ve gone on strike. Recently, the consequences from my g-store ban have begun to show.
A few nights ago, we sprawled out on our respective couches to watch Transformers II (which was terrible). About halfway through the movie, John strolled into the kitchen on a snack-hunt. Due to the limited options, he returned with the last unopened box of pasta. His crunch, crunch, crunching kept disrupting my cinematic experience. After twenty minutes of his chomping, I pleaded, “Enough with the spaghetti!” To which he responded, “But it’s like chewing fingernails—same texture—and you know how, eventually, (chomp) you run out of fingernail (chomp) and then you’re left with pain? Well, with pasta, you just grab another piece.” While masking my utter disgust, I made a mental note to permanently switch to rigatoni. Then, with complete disregard for my knock-it-off request, he started on a fresh-carb stick…
Later that week, when I came downstairs for my morning coffee, I found another empty Barilla box abandoned on the table. This is disturbing on multiple levels. John rarely leaves a trail of evidence. (Maybe my sloth ways are contagious, after all?) But I guess the carb-induced coma was too much, because he crashed right there on the couch. All signs are pointing to John having a serious raw pasta addiction.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve had my share of uncooked macaroni—while I was waiting for the water to boil. John, on the other hand, is consuming it by the pound. He usually has much better taste. When we go out to dinner, I habitually steal his meal after disliking my own selection. Sometimes—when I’m feeling thoughtful—I just copy what he orders. And it saves everybody pain and suffering. But my favorite thing is when I trick him into going halfsies. This occurs when there are two menu items that I really, really want. (Sometimes having to choose between the Italian Sub and the Chicken Philly is just too difficult.) Put it this way, if it weren’t for following John’s lead, I never would have known the succulent melt-in-your-mouth pleasures of fresh lobster. Funny how we ate better when we were unemployed and courting.
Last Thursday, during Grey’s Anatomy, my hubby went digging through the pantry yet again. Having polished off the pasta, he whipped up tortilla chips with melted cheese. He also carried a jar of sliced jalapenos to the table. I’ve always regarded this mini green pepper ring with mystery and distrust. “Just try it,” John said while holding a chip up to my face…I curled my toes and reluctantly agreed. Much to my surprise, jalapenos (at least this batch) have a mild yet distinct flavor. They will go on my Things-I-Now-Eat-Thanks-To-John list. I had a few more chips just to be certain my taste buds weren’t misinformed. Then I picked up the jar and memorized the label—incase I ever take up grocery shopping again.
That's funny...David has a Things-I-Now-Eat-Thanks-To-Kristin list. :-)
Posted by: Kristin | Nov 20, 2009 at 03:29 PM