Life with a Human Garbage Disposal

There’s this picture I’ve been dying to scan of Brian and me. It was taken about thirteen years ago, back when we were young and semi-hot. I’ll have to see if I can try to extract it from its cheap plastic frame without doing any damage to it, because it’s very sentimental. Not because of how in love we were or anything pukey like that – it’s because of how good we look in it. We were spending the day on the lake that day and to think that I once so carelessly wore cut-off’s and a half-shirt that says “Girls Rule!” Without thinking twice. And Brian’s shorts are practically falling off of his fit ‘n trim frame.

He’s been complaining lately of this little gut he’s managed to put on in the last couple of years. I have little-to-no sympathy for him, because I know a couple of weeks working out in the 7th circle of Hell South Carolina Summer sunshine and it’ll be merely but a distant memory. Bastard. And really – even if it didn’t disappear? Biggie. So his stomach sticks out a little more now. It’s barely noticeable, because it doesn’t show in his face (unlike me), his arms are still muscular and un-flabby (unlike me) and he doesn’t have to carry around two huge melons on his chest (very unlike me). For him, weight will probably never be an issue, and hey – bully for him.

But here’s the thing. I live with the guy. And no matter what people say, after you’ve been married awhile, at least for most couples, life does become somewhat less adventurous. While we used to do things like golf, bowling, hiking, skiing (both kinds), and the occasional mosh pit (you’d be surprised how many calories you can burn that way) on a fairly regular basis, that stuff is a lot more rare these days. Especially since he works outside – I can’t really blame him if after eight hours of heat-related torture he doesn’t get excited after he gets home about going BACK outside, let alone my idea of buying some his ‘n her bikes for quality couples’ cycling. All he wants to do is sit in the a/c, eat a good dinner and ten or twelve after-dinner snacks, and relax. And I totally understand, but where does that leave me, the blob who sat behind a desk all day? Any physical activity I do at night is pretty much going to be solo (well, save for one, but this is not the appropriate forum for that), at least for the next three or four punishing months.

It’s a sad fact that most guys can eat to their hearts’ content and not have a care in the world. I’m not saying there aren’t some obese men; I know there are. I’m saying MOST guys, or at least all the ones I’ve ever been with. And Brian? The guy loves to eat. His parents tell me he’s always been an eating enthusiast. One of the reasons he was excited to move back here, his hometown, was the opportunity to eat Momma’s Southern Sunday dinner every week. While this has been one of the most satisfying parts about wifedom for me, the cooking for someone who truly appreciates it (when he gets really hungry and excited for dinner, he even does this cute little dance), it’s also been a detriment to my waistline (and gut and exploding boobs). While I realize I’m a separate person from him, I’ve found a lot of times his habits rub off on me. And I don’t think I’m alone in this dilemma.

Last night, for instance. He got home around five and like most days lately he wasn’t even close to being hungry. Ninety-five degrees with one-hundred and ten percent humidity will do that to a person. But with the new habits I’m trying to implement for myself, the best thing for me right now is cooking and eating dinner fairly soon after I get home, to try to be done with eating before 7pm. Before six would be even better, but that’s not realistic for me. He doesn’t get hungry until somewhere between 8 and 9:00 and then he makes up for lost time, eating anything that isn’t nailed down. I suppose I should just cook dinner for myself and tell him he can eat it when he’s ready, because this isn’t going to cut it. I ended up eating a bowl of cereal at 7:00 and feeling unsatisfied and cranky the rest of the night. He ended up eating half the contents of the fridge and pantry. Yet all his clothes still fit him.

To reiterate: Bastard.


14 Responses to Life with a Human Garbage Disposal

  1. Grace says:

    I really do miss cooking for your husband. He is one of those people that enjoys food so much that it makes it easy to slave over a hot stove or microwave or fry daddy or any other appliance because you know how much he enjoys a good meal (or snack). Do you remember back in the Ghetto days what a pain in the ass it was to cook something for Chris that he would like? Yeah, I don’t miss that.

    I really don’t see him doing the fitness thing/healthy eating thing with you-good luck going solo!

  2. Laura says:

    I used to be hung up on insisting that everyone eat at the same time, and would become insulted if dinner was ready but nobody was hungry yet. Rather than push dinner out, I just got my head wrapped around the fact that we have a MICROWAVE, of all things, and if nobody (well, just Calvin, now) wants to eat when dinner is ready, they can heat themselves up a plate later. Too bad if it tastes better when it HASN’T been sitting around for an hour or two – if I’m the one that’s expected to cook, said cooking will occur on MY schedule, thanyouverymuch.

    Also, it ticks me off that Calvin can pretty much live off of beer and lard and not gain a smidge of weight. I add an extra teaspoon of dressing to my salad and I’m sporting a tool shed.

    • Kimmothy says:

      But it is nice when you put all that effort into slaving around in the kitchen that people are as excited and ready to eat. You’re right that it’s much better hot off the griddle rather than reheated in the microwave and to that I say OH FRICKIN’ WELL!!!

  3. Taoist Biker says:

    I’d say we both have that problem. Partially because we’re on different schedules. I’m the morning crew, Dys is the night crew. When I’m awake and feeling good, rabid badgers in the house couldn’t rouse her. When I get home from work and she’s feeling good, all I want to do is sit on my butt. And maybe have a glass of bourbon. (We’ll not discuss the size of said glass.)

    Maybe not every night, sure, but it sure does seem to happen often that one of us wants to get out and do something active together at the exact moment the other collapses into a couch.

  4. crisitunity says:

    It took me forever to figure out a dinner routine that would work for me & BF, and the trials and tribulations are TOO DAMN LONG to go into here.

    Instead I will say that I am as jealous of BF as you are of Brian. For different reasons – BF has himself a nice little pregnancy belly, about 4 months, but he eats so much that he should really be about 400 pounds. He is, as you so perfectly wrote it, a human garbage disposal. The thing that really makes me crazy about this is that he can eat AN. Y. THING. and his digestive system handles it like it ain’t no thang, and if I eat one extra piece of fudge I’m in agony the next day. Bastard.

    • Kimmothy says:

      Like I said, most men I’ve known have been this way; in fact my last serious boyfriend before Brian was a veritable BEAN POLE, yet he ate whatever he wanted and often.
      It’s a cruel, cruel joke.

    • Taoist Biker says:

      The human garbage disposal part is fairly true for me, too. I might have an upset stomach for a little bit, but a quick trip to the bathroom and I’m all set. There are rarely effects that linger more than two hours.

      It’s a gift. And it beats peeing your name in the snow. I’m still not sure I’d take it over multiple orgasms, though.

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