Thursday, October 11, 2007

Ali-ism; Eating the Prophets

Every Monday I bake an insane amount of snacks for my husband to take to work with him on Tuesday for others to buy. Kind of a little side business that gives me a sweet, little "Goodwill Fund". His co-workers love the banana bread, cookies, brownies, and bread that I make so hubby has become the homemade-snack-vending-guy at work. Just the other day he came home confessing to me that he had ‘sinned’ and eaten a chunk of banana bread. That he just couldn’t help it – it was calling out his name (during one of his many snacking frenzies).

Bunny-trail for those of you who don’t know my husband - his appearance is that of a man being attacked by a killer tapeworm. He is six feet of tall, dark, handsome, and 160lbs, soaked to the skin. But the sickening thing about all of it is that he eats more that most of us put together. You can set your watch to the twenty-minute-after-supper-stomach-growl. No kidding…twenty minutes after we eat, he is in the kitchen scourging through the fridge and cupboards because his "stomach is eating his liver". I really don’t know how it all happens, but it does and it doesn’t settle with me as fair since he is the one that eats the 3000 calorie diet and I am the one that gains the weight from it as I begrudgingly suck down Slim Fast in order to counteract his super-charged, over-active, above and beyond metabolism, BREATH, but this post isn’t about his eating habits anyway.

Back to the issue at hand, him eating the banana bread. I do however want to make it clear that I DO NOT tell him that he cannot have any snacks. I, in fact, encourage him to eat more because I noticed that one of the dimples in MY southern hemisphere disappeared and I’m concerned that I will wither and blow away ;) There I go again –

So my darling husband comes in the house telling me (with ALL the dramatics) how he ate this chunk of banana bread, that he’s sorry, he won’t do it again, he just gave in to his fleshy desires, etc…. I played in by telling him it was fine, I forgive him. And with our twelve year old in ear-shot he says (as he’s acting like he’s crying) NO……. it’s not ok, I’m eating up all the profits.

Our witty twelve-ear-old chimes and tells him….

"Dad, you can’t eat the prophets, they’re already dead."


Another day, another Alli-ism, another opportunity to "count it all joy".

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