We’ve established that I’m not a grown-up, so nothing I’m about to say should come as a surprise to you.
First of all, I’m going to have to throw Husband under the bus a bit by saying that at least I’m not the picky eater—he is. Did I mention he only just tried guacamole after being shamed into it? Because he did, finally, though he still swears he hates avocados so I don’t know what to do with him because how can anyone hate avocados, they are literally the most inoffensive flavor on God’s green earth—it’s like saying you don’t like water!
Okay, so here’s the thing: feeding me isn’t easy either.
Right? Not where you thought I was going. But here’s what usually happens:
HIM: Hey, can we talk about dinner?
ME: Mmm, I’m not really hungry.
HIM: Okay, but… if we need to run to the store, we should have a plan soon…
ME: Yeah, I know.
HIM: (hours later) So, about dinner…
ME: Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to be hungry.
HIM: (sighs) Should we just plan on something light?
HIM: (goes away sad)
ME: (ten minutes later) OH MY GOD I’M STARVING! WHERE IS ALL THE FOOD?
See? That’s not how a grown-up would feed herself.
“Okay,” I hear you saying, “but that was just a template. Can you give us an actual example? Something recent!”
Of course I can.
HIM: (making jambalaya, pulls out phone to check recipe)
ME: (via skype) Changed my mind, want this (links recipe)
HIM: (storming in) I’ve already pulled the trigger on jambalaya. Aromatics have been cut, there’s no going back!
ME: But I’m hungry now!
HIM: … So why change the plan?
ME: This is already done!
HIM: No, it isn’t. It’s done in the picture.
ME: Nuh-uh. There’s a video!
ME: (triumphant smirk)
HIM: Fine, print it out and eat it, but you’ll have to share with your dog.
“Yes,” you’re thinking (or perhaps saying aloud because we are truly kindred spirits), “that’s all perfectly normal hangry talk… and not all that recent, because I remember you posting a picture of said chopped veg and complaining how he chased you out of the kitchen for stealing a pepper. Really, haven’t you got anything weird for us?”
Oh ye of little faith. How ‘bout this: just a few days ago I made coddle, which is (shut up) one of my absolute favorite things to eat and I cannot be reasoned with in its presence. Seriously, I don’t even need to be hungry—if I am presented with (my) coddle I will serve up two bowls without batting an eye.
ME: So full. Why did you let this happen?
HIM: How is this my fault?
ME: You didn’t stop me!
HIM: You’re supposedly a grown-up.
ME: Yeah, but you know that’s not true. Plus, you’re supposed to stop me from making terrible decisions. If I was about to marry someone else you’d stop me, right?
HIM: … Do you feel like that would be a mistake? Maybe he’d stop you from overeating.
ME: Well, now that I’m married to you.
HIM: Pretty sure the state would stop you.
ME: Nah, they only care if I file taxes with both of you.
ME: Oh my god, I just looked over and saw that there’s still a little bit of coddle and had to stop myself from—
ME: (nods pitifully, polishes off cider)
HIM: Well it’s a good thing you inherited that extra alcohol stomach.
ME: Right? (doubles over) Aorhuoueou.
ME: I don’t know. There’s a lot wrong with me right now. I hurt.
ME: And you won’t help me!
HIM: I probably won’t stop you in the future either, if you’re going to be this entertaining.
ME: MY SKIN DOESN’T FIT ANYMORE.
HIM: (laughs harder)
ME: How is this funny to you?
HIM: It just is!
ME: Shut up and take my bowl away before I finish that off.
HIM: (laughing) Oh my god!
Basically, between the two of us, it’s a lot like feeding a toddler.