A lean mean fighting machine, my better half towers over me with his 6 foot frame. Never one to worry about what he garbled down in a day in carbs, he is ironically an amazing specimen of a man. He has long lean legs and the cutest of behinds. Often sitting on our bed, I peer into our ensuite bathroom while he is having a shower and become utterly mesmerized by his slender body. Well, in fact, I am just out and out jealous.
My jello cup of body is nothing to write home about. In fact, it’s nothing to write about at all. Painfully short, stubby legs and a booty you could set a picnic on, I am the epitome of a goofy cartoon drawing. Lucky for me that my better half finds this walking jello cup attractive or I would still be stuck on some shelf with my expiration date fast approaching.
As the days compound upon each other and my quest to live a life solely based on fruits, veggies and protein, I have become painfully aware of a very volatile part of my psyche.
First let me make it abundantly clear that while I have chosen this path, I have absolutely no expectations of my better half following in my foot steps. He has no need to, and in fact would probably shrivel up and die if he did not consume his pound of sugar a day. Blessed with his mother’s metabolism, the man literally metabolizes sugar into workable energy. In fact, he is an admirable freak of nature.
But the other day as he was shoveling back a piece of cake and I was eating my orange, he leaned over at me with his sweet induced vanilla cake breath and mumbled the words “I am so proud of you honey, I am just so proud.” Instead of focusing on the positivity of his words, all I could see was the soft velvety cake crumbs around the corners of his mouth and the leftover luscious icing on the edges of his lips. I was salivating like a full running faucet, and in that moment, two things crossed my mind in a minuscule flash. First, I wanted to dive at him, and lick the icing off his lips like a hungry dog and suck up those crumbs like a hoover vacuum cleaner on steroids. Followed, by wanting to take that freaking piece of cake and shove it up his nostrils where the sun couldn’t find it. I gave a twisted, sweet controlled little smile, devoured my orange like a cannibal and walked way with steam oozing out of my ears. It was not a pretty sight.
And at that moment, I realized that this was going to be my life. Him eating whatever he wants, me watching in a torturous state.
Being a lover of food, I am grieving I suppose over this change in my life. Eventually, it will just become a permanent way, well I am hoping anyways. I am even anticipating that there will come a day where food will not mean that much too me. Yes, I am starting to think I am becoming a tad delusional myself.
But for now though, I realize I have two options in my effort to survive this sweet, torturous, self inflicted nightmare:
a. Anger Management Counselling; or
Hmmmm, I am thinking that I will take option “b”. There is just something delightfully wicked about fantasizing that I am beating my better half senseless with a fully loaded sub. Yes my friends, it is all about the fully loaded sub! Oops, I mean the visualization. Yes, it's all about the visualization. Oh lord, let it be about the visualization!
Until Next Time.
Until Next Time.