Not a bona-fide problem

GRIN # 387

The hub, or the Tiger as I call him, came home the other morning at 9:23.

“What’s for lunch?” he asked.

“You’re so funny,” I said. I was cleaning up from breakfast, still in my jammy pants since we’re tracked out at the moment and I’ve been working nights.

“I’m serious.  Do we have any of those noodles from the other night?”

“You ARE serious! Do you see what I’m putting away? Frosted Mini-Wheats.”

“I’m starving!” he whined.

“There IS some leftover turkey tenderloin,” I sighed.

“Perfect. Will you make me a couple of sandwiches?” he asked as he took the stairs two at a time to retrieve whatever it was he’d come home for.

Same story, different day. Trying to feed the Tiger.

It’s race season and he’s cycling like crazy plus working on his feet at the shop. Eating 3,500 calories a day and still losing weight, blah, blah, blah. It makes me want to vomit.

I’m tempted to buy him a case of Ensure and be done with it because we all know how I feel about cooking and, frankly, making him lunch while I’m cleaning up breakfast is almost a deal-breaker.

“I’ve been thinking about taking some of that Ensure,” he told me when I mentioned it. “It gets old having to eat all the time.”

Oh, puh-lease!! Two-thirds of Americans are overweight, and I married one who has to eat every two hours and is still freakin’ disappearing? And people say God doesn’t have a sense of humor!

Personally, I can’t believe this is a bona-fide problem–that he’s even having to consult a professional. Because I could get the job done, people.

Below, the syllabus for my weight-gain class:

We’d start out at Red Lobster, where we’d gorge on some fab cheese biscuits. Next, it’s on to my fave pizza joint, where we’d order a Meat Lovers’ pan pizza, accompanied by a few beers (or margaritas if you’re really jonesing for some calories). Finally, it’s off to The Cupcake Shoppe where we’ll cap off the night with a half-dozen of the best mini-cakes, topped with frothy colorful frosting.

The next day: lather, rinse, repeat. For as long as needed ’til your damn pants aren’t around your ankles. I’ll send you a bill.

Seriously. It can’t be that hard. If I was successful at that, I could offer the next class in the series: “Spending Money.”

It’s a perfect Plan B if this writing thing doesn’t work out.


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