And then my husband said to me….

June 27, 2011 at 8:10 pm | Posted in And then my husband said to me...., Daily Life | 2 Comments
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…. ‘yes 80g grams of whole grain rice please, and I need three portions’.

ChickenImage courtesy of Trenttsd.

Isn’t it supposed to be women that are neurotic about eating habits and have faddy Cheryl Cole or Cameron Diaz inspired diets?!

Yet in my house it is me snaffling down a Ginsters Sausage Roll whilst my husband is calculating the mass to density ratio of the pure level of actual protein in one chicken breast.

He is loopy.  There are no two ways about it.  He is completely doo-lally tap as my Stoke-on-Trent in laws would say.

So, as I set about preparing a nice Thai chicken dish for dinner this evening, I prepared an unmeasured amount of white rice for myself alongside an unmeasured amount of chicken for myself.  My only stipulation being that this was a chicken that lived a happy existence.  I couldn’t give a flying Peperami how much it weighs or whether it is A grade or otherwise.

I also added a separate pan containing a separated 240 grams of chicken for husband’s lunch tomorrow.

And finally a further pan containing brown rice – 240 grams to be exact, which was to be subsequently divided into three equal 80 gram portions – one for dinner and two for tomorrow.

‘Will you be able to heat this up at work tomorrow?‘ I enquired.  ‘Oh don’t worry about (poor old) me, I’ll eat it cold….’  My poor husband.  As his dutiful wife maybe I should invest in a portable microwave – powered by the cigarette lighter in my car and warm it as I drive to his work and present it to him on our finest wedding china, piping hot.

Maybe it would be easier to heat it at home and then have a courier bike rush it to him.

Or maybe I should just shove a greasy burger, twice-fried chips and a chocolate brownie under his nose and see if he starts to hyperventilate.

At breakfast time today I prepared two bagels – wholemeal, alongside scrambled eggs – four whites, two yolks, and served it to him as politely as a silver service waitress.  I had consumed a cup of decaf and was chomping secretly on ginger nuts behind the kitchen door.  I wonder what Gillian McKeith would make of us?  I’m not sure who she would reprimand first.

So because of the secret biscuit crunching it is I who feels on the verge of an eating disorder because my meals don’t consist of the ideal protein to carb ratio.  My body may not be a temple but to get through a day with a toddler who says ‘what’s that’ 87 times per minute and can run faster than what’s his name Bolt, you need Double Deckers, salt and vinegar chipsticks and Diet Coke.  At least once a day.

Although, I do confess that on a Saturday night we have races to see who can eat their Ristorante pepperoni pizza first….yes, we have one each.

So he’s not all bad.

 

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2 Comments »

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  1. Does he get up early for gentle yoga stretching too?
    God – we’re both fat bastards in this household. There again, does mean an awful lot of combined weight gain over the year. At least you probably keep yours down a bit through guilt and comparision. ;>)

    M2M

    • Yes he hangs upside down from a tree in the garden each morning chanting chicken mantras. And I am only allowed to eat once a week during the pizza eating race.


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