And he is, too. The husband, I mean. We’ve known each other off and on, for over seven years now. One of my earlier memories of us sharing the same space was when his parents went out of town and his brother threw afternoon parties every day to celebrate. Obviously all the money available was spent on grass so usually there was no food. Sometimes there was a little alcohol. One such day I went out to the dining room for a little fresh air, feeling faintly sorry for myself because I hadn’t eaten all day.
Vicky came out of his room, took a carton of cheese spread out of the ‘fridge, a packet of Cream Crackers and proceeded to devour the whole lot on his own. In front of me, seated across the table. Over friendly conversation. Without so much as offering me a bite.
You’d think I should have known better than to marry a monster like him.
Now, these long days at work are tough on my munch-happy tum. I like to munch through the afternoon and I only survived the other day by reminding myself about the chicken cutlet sitting in the ‘fridge at home. Vicky was to have had one for lunch and the other one I planned to slide into the system ASAP.
But you know where this is going. He had them both. I don’t think I’ll get over the disappointment any time soon.
Note: The man is being disgustingly nice to me while I adjust to this major lifestyle change. I have been thinking for a long time but this was the only legit complaint I found to write about. So what if one part is six years old. I don’t intend to let a little thing like that stop me.