You'd think that with me weighing 700lbs and Chris proudly standing at 274 1/2lbs (oh, you have to put the half in there! It officially gets him below 275!! LOL) that we wouldn't have a problem deciding on what we will eat. Each and every meal, whether we go out (which we do often) or whether we eat at home, we have the same conversation.
Chris: Whaddya wanna do for breakfast/lunch/dinner? And don't say you don't care.
Me: I don't care. *insert snicker here*
Chris: *insert his annoyed sigh here* Well are you craving something?????
Me: EVERYTHING!! I'm starving!
Chris: So whaddya want?
Me: Pizza!!! *insert second snicker here*
Chris: *insert MAJORLY annoyed sigh here* Seriously. . . whaddya want?
Me: SERIOUSLY! I don't know, what do YOU want? Aren't YOU craving something?
Chris: Meat. (hello duh!! He's on the Atkins diet!!)
Me: *insert my annoyed sigh* Just pick something!
Chris: I just wish you'd tell me what you want!
Me: Every time I tell you what I want, it gets shot down so you might as well just make the decision and do it now!
Chris: ~~~~silence~~~~
Me: Why don't you just call me back when you decide ok????
Quite the loving couple huh?? ;) We used to have the strike out/suggest rule. One person suggests something/a place and if the other doesn't want to eat there/it, they are responsible for the next suggestion. It worked like a charm until 1. Cale was born 2. Chris started his diet! The funny thing is when we're around my parents they do the same thing, but worse. Dad always ends up spitting mad and does that "laugh". . .oooohhhhh I HATE that laugh! It's the, "I'm laughing in order to not rip your head clean off of your body leaving nothing but a blood dripping spine" laugh. Scary really.
So the moral of the story. . .don't ask me what I want to eat. I've spent one year and five months conforming my eating habits to that of my husband in order to to buy him the one and only worldly posession he desires with every fiber of his being - a big screen tv. And just in case anyone is counting (which no one is besides Bubba himself. . .maybe Joe. . .but that's just because Chris has brainwashed him) there are only 44 days until Chris will spend every last penny we have, deprive us of house, food, clothing and entertainment center, to buy the Mitsubishi 623 (or whatever model it is today). But I digress.
For the love of George, just pick something to eat and I'm bound to find something that will fill that void in the pit that I call a stomach.
