Food Fight

I never understood the concept of "the food fight." Who wastes calories by throwing food at someone for pleasure? Sure if it's something I don't like to eat, but that narrows the playing field down to brussel sprouts and blue cheese. Food is not a weapon. Food is the ultimate pleasure(aside from shagging Brad Pitt). If I happen to be eating (which I usually am) and a food fight breaks out, you can bet I'll be the first one to leave the room. I do not fear authority. I do not fear the schmear of green peas sliding down my gorgeous face. I FEAR...someone taking the food I intended to eat away from me....no matter what the reason. If I have mentally prepared myself to eat said food, it shall not leave my plate until it enters the cavernous hollows of the back of my throat. End of story. If someone were to take said food off of my plate, proceed to chuck it across the room and allow it to land anywhere in close proximity to another human, the feral fatty in me would take over. Picture Sissy Spacek in "Carrie"...replace prom scene with cafeteria scene, turn blood into catsup and imagine someone has just stolen my ham patty. Don't make me go "Carrie" on your ass.



As you can see, food is near and dear to my heart. However, I did not realize that food would be there for me in my time of need. I need you to stay with me on this one. I'm going to ask you to picture something that may seem like a bit of a stretch. Something that you may not imagine possible. Ready? Reach deep here...pretend that sometimes... for no apparent reason...your husband acts like an asshole. I know...it never happens...but it did...to me. I had just left church after praying for single digit returns. I know God isn't vain but I can't imagine heaven is big enough for the entire fatty clan. I wonder if Little Debbie will go to heaven... lying whore. Anyway, I decided I would cook my husband a really nice dinner bcs....no not bcs he had done something to deserve it... bcs I was hoping to get a little "sompin sompin" later and I definitely needed this dinner to use in the bartering process. That's what sex becomes when you get married...a trade off. I feed you...you bang me. Somehow that part wasn't explained to me at the alter when I was refusing to say "obey." Anyway, I figured the worst thing that could happen was that I would eat well and pass out from a food coma. Happy wife happy life.

Where there is a good deed in the making there's a man waiting to throw his wrench into the plan. Little did I know that my subliminal fatty had my back when it came to planning this meal. I had just returned from the store when said husband asked me to do him a favor. No, not that kind of favor. It's never that easy. I had $60 worth of food that would bring that fantasy to life...or so I thought. No, the husband wanted me to proof read something for him...and thank God he asks for help in that area. We all love a little spellcheck... but I'd venture to guess Stevie Wonder would have had more success correcting this document! Anyway, I didn't want to do it bcs I thought what he was doing was pointless. Imagine that, a man doing something pointless. Again, we are in our "special place"...stay with me. I must have been mumbling under my breath (so unlike me...hee hee) and he finally broke. "Don't F'n do it then!" Hark! Did my husband just drop the "F" bomb in my presence? He knows better. That word is only to be used as a verb....that's the standing rule in our house! How dare he? I began to panic. No not bcs of the looming tension. Put on your fatty cap...I just spent $60 on food and now who's gonna eat it?! Well I am of course! Problem solved. Except the part where the sex comes in. Oh well. Looks like Bugs Bunny and I will be meeting up in the spare room again.

As I prepared dinner I realized something....I was ready for this battle. The "enemy" had no idea that the very food I was preparing would be the perfect outlet for my anger. Let's review the menu shall we? Filet Mignon topped with jumbo lump crab meat, corn on the cob, twice baked potatoes, asagio cheese bread and a nice bottle of Chilean red wine. If you're not salivating, you are not human...or worse...you are skinny. Find another blog sista! I prepared his steak to perfection..."raw" just like his mouth and his attitude. Watching the blood drain from such a fine slab of meat made my eyes get all big and I chuckled in that "crazy" sort of way. To top off this menstruating piece of beef...Jumbo lump crab meat. Who says you can be a crab and eat it to? Not me! Moving onto the potatoes. I took great pleasure in scraping the guts out of his spuds only to return said parts to the respective potatoes laced with skim milk and low fat cheese. Yummy. He so loves the low fatties. I sampled the Asagio bread only to be left with a sour taste in my mouth. How fitting. As I boiled the water for the corn I wondered how it would fit into the scheme of things. Why yes, I would just imagine that I was shoving it up his ass while he shouted "F, F." Not in the verb form either. Why not? Everyone knows corn doesn't digest anyway. Might as well stick it where it ends up and save some strain on the ole digestive tract. Last but not least there was the Chilean red wine. I knew exactly how this particular piece fit into this puzzle. If one were so advantageous as to translate the name on the bottle, it would read as follows: "Cellar of the Devil." Where else would one find such a fine wine for the occasion?

He ate the bloody steak, the low fat baked potatoes, the bread and even the corn. Turns out he likes it raw, cuts his corn off of the cob and doesn't mind a sour taste in his mouth. Shocker. He did not, however partake in the wine. That's fine. I sat silently, ate my meal , drank with the Devil and met up with the rabbit sans a sour taste in MY mouth. Fatties: 1 Husbands: 0