crack-nips

S. and I had a good talk about sabatoge and food last night. She'd made turkey brats and vegetarian baked beans and corn on the cob (the last of the season--man was it good)--you know, pretty basic pedestrian food that reminds me of the backyard barbeques of my youth. This meal, in itself, was in no way bad, or evil. Really.

When I went to make up my plate, I did not grab a bun. (I knew S. had bought whole wheat buns with me in mind--she'd take the plain jane white ones over wheat any day.)

"You're not having a bun?" she asked, a slightly stricken look crossing her face, her brow furrowing.

"Nope," I said.

"I'm sorry," she replied.

I was a little confused.

"For what?"

"I feel like I'm not helping you in your efforts," she said.

"Why, because you bought buns?"

"Yeah," she said, sighing.

"You ARE helping me!" I replied. "You cooked dinner and I really appreciate it..."

"The beans are no fat!" she said, triumphant.

"Yes, honey, I know. Really it's okay." I kissed her cheek. "It's o....kay."

I don't give her enough credit sometimes. Sure, when I got home, there was an opened package of cheese-nips on the counter, and yeah, I plunged in and tasted their crack-like addictive goodness, but then I said, aloud, "these are like crack" and she said "I know" and we laughed, and for the love of snack foods, they're just crack-ers!! It's not like she took them out of the cupboard, opened them, and thought "now we'll just see who is serious about losing weight...she won't be able to resist!" No, true to form, she was eating them herself and simply didn't put them away. And in I walked, crampy and cranky, and holeeee those nips were like magic on my tongue.

I might think her behaviors around food and eating are mindless and without regard to consequence. But I'd be wrong. S. may not let on, but she's also my wife, and she chose to marry a woman who has downright obsessive tendencies around food. She knows me and she loves me anyway. I'm the only one holding the bag. I'm the one left to suck all the orange from my fingers, though I'm sure she'd oblige should I ever ask.