Monday, June 28, 2010
Anyway, in my ongoing effort to remain on the "bald guy" side of the equation, I have started yet another diet. My fiance Theresa has decided to join me in this endeavor. So the other morning, she asked me the simple question, "What are you having for lunch?"
"I dunno, probably yogurt and maybe some tuna," I said.
"What do you mean, 'oh'?"
"Well, we need to go to the grocery store to pick up dog food so I thought maybe we could stop somewhere for lunch."
"Okay," I said. "How about Subway?" A happy medium, I thought. Filling, tasty, somewhat within the limits of my diet.
"Sure, I guess."
So we went to the market and bought the dog food. On the way back to the car, Theresa noticed a Baskin Robbins in the same shopping center.
"Hey, I've been wanting to try out that Baseball Nut Sundae," she said.
Let me explain something real quick. Dieting is not all that difficult for me. I can resist temptation. However, when Major Temptation joins forces with Master Sergeant Theresa, well, that's more than I can handle. It's impossible to fight the Battle of the Bulge on two fronts.
"Fine," I said. "Let's go get some ice cream. But if that Baseball Nut Sundae comes in a protective cup, I'm outta there."
"You sure you don't mind putting off the diet another day?" she asked. After all that, it's now my decision.
"Yeah, why the hell not?"
So we had the sundaes. Still, if we stayed on our diet the rest of the day and did an extra session at the gym, it'd probably be fine. We got in the car headed over to Subway.
"Oooh, look," said Theresa. "Let's go to Sonic Burgers!"
"You're kidding, right?"
"No, doesn't that sound great?"
Anything you say, Sergeant. Private Spineless reporting for duty.
I pulled into the Sonic drive-thru and ordered our meals. She got the burger and Tater Tots, I got the double cheeseburger and Tater Tots. Jenny Craig, kiss my fat ass.
Speaking of Jenny Craig, I forgot to mention that just last week Theresa spent a not insignificant amount of money on Jenny Craig food. Packages of granola bars, low-calorie meals, and healthy desserts gathered dust in our pantry while Theresa and I stuffed our faces with burgers and ice cream. But I digress.
As we were in the drive-thru waiting to pay, Theresa said to me, "Hey, you've got a weird pocket of fat right there."
Now, I was looking out the window so I didn't know what specific "pocket of fat" she was looking at. Sadly, there were a couple different possibilities. Still, after basically brow-beating me into the ice cream and burgers, I was in no mood to hear about my excess blubber.
"You didn't just say that," I replied.
"Oh, no, it's fine. How could anyone possibly misconstrue the phrase 'weird-looking pocket of fat'? And what pocket of fat, if I may ask, are you referring to?"
"Right there, on your hand. Look."
Apparently, she thought that the fleshy part of my hand between my thumb and index finger could stand to drop a couple pounds. I didn't react well.
"Let me get this straight," I said, voice rising slightly. "I wanted to have yogurt for lunch. Then I compromised and agreed we'd go to Subway. THEN you talked me into ice cream and THEN you wanted to come here to Sonic. And now you have the nerve to say my fucking hands are too fat!? Well, excuse me, maybe I can watch infomercials tonight and see if Suzanne Somers is selling the Thumb-Master or something so I can slim them down a bit!" I snatched my change from the hand of a completely innocent and unsuspecting cashier. Great, now I'm a fat asshole.
Theresa was somewhat taken aback by my outrage. "Maybe it's just muscle. Yes, I'm sure that's what it is, muscle. You're so strong."
"Yeah, shut up and finish your Tater Tots."