Sunday, April 24, 2011

Fried chicken butter pizza


I just turned 29 and since that is just one year away from The Big 3-0, I went in for a checkup. My doctor looked at me like a veterinarian looks at a horse with a broken leg. The prognosis was – unsurprisingly – not good.

I know I've gained a little weight recently. My wife also says it's normal for a husband to gain weight during his wife's pregnancy, but I suspect she is only trying to make me feel better. Why my wife's pregnancy would make me get fatter is anyone's guess. Perhaps it is because on any given evening you can find us driving around town on a quest to find some random food that she is craving, and when she is eating cheeseburgers, potato chips or banana popsicles, a few might accidentally make their way into my mouth through no fault of my own. It can't be helped.

Whatever the reason, it got me sent to the “Nutrition and Exercise Counselor,” which felt a lot like getting sent to the principal's office. I'm grown and not in elementary school anymore, but I was similarly terrified. She clucked to herself while reading my charts and I cowered in a chair across the desk from her.

“Do you know why you're here today?” she asked eventually.

“I'm fat?” I ventured.

“Right. I can tell from your blood work that you don’t exercise at all.”

“That’s not true!” I protested.

“Moving hand to mouth doesn’t count as ‘exercise.’”

Oooooh she was evil. But she was right. Next she told me that what I was eating was also part of the problem.

“For example, how often do you eat pizza?” she said.

“Once a week,” I said proudly, thinking this was a small and reasonable amount.

“Once a week!” she exclaimed. “That’s way too much!”

“Seriously?” I asked, dumfounded. “I ate pizza, like, every single day while I was in college.”

“Yeah but you aren’t in college anymore, now are you?”

Thoroughly beaten, I couldn't do anything but sit and listen as she explained with a straight face that HDL is “happy” cholesterol and LDL is “lousy” cholesterol. She also gave me color coded lists of foods: green meaning “go ahead and eat,” yellow meaning “eat with caution” and read meaning “don't eat.” I really was in elementary school.

At one point she leaned over to show me something on one of the lists and I realized she smelled very strongly of cigarette smoke, which made me furious. All I could think was, Girl, I know you did not just come up in here trying to tell me about “healthy lifestyle choices” when you are smelling like you just smoked seven packs of Marlboros! I could sit on my butt and eat pizza topped with fried chicken and butter all day every day and I would still outlive your smarmy cigarette-smoking hide!

But of course I didn't say any of that to her. I just listened, in case there was a test on it later.


Any other husbands/boyfriends/partners gaining weight with their pregnant wives? Comment if you like.

PS - I guest blogged at WTF Is Up With My Love Life and you can read it here.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes


I'm becoming my father. I knew it was happening when I started to tell long rambling stories and forgot the point of the story before I completed the telling. I really knew it was happening when my wife would politely tell me that I had already told said story at least 50 times before and not to worry because she remembered the point of the story and could easily finish it for me.

Yikes.

It's not so bad. My dad is a good guy. I have come to like him so much I want to name our soon-to-be-born son after him. It is funny, though.

In addition to the rambling stories, I have noticed how cheap I am becoming. When we were kids we used to leave the lights on all over the house and my dad would follow behind us flipping them off and saying, “Do you think I work hard all day so that you can light empty rooms, leave the TV on when you're not watching and leave the refrigerator door open? Do you think electricity grows on trees?”

No, dad,” we'd say. “Electricity comes from the Hoover Dam.”

Yes,” he'd reply. “And thanks to you it takes the whole Hoover Dam to power this house!”

Now I do the same thing, watching those light switches like a hawk and lecturing my wife on where electricity comes from.

The cheapness manifests itself in other ways, too. My wife was going to throw out some expired lunch meat, but I told her that was $3 worth of meat and it was still good. I promptly made myself a sandwich and took it to work the next day. When I ate the sandwich on my lunchbreak I promptly got dizzy and hallucinated that my co-workers looked like fish and my boss looked like Poseidon, God of the Ocean. Then I threw up. These are just a few examples.

I used to wonder: Why is my dad so cranky? I guess it was because he was trying to raise a bunch of kids and make a living too. He was supposed to be able to fix everything that broke, make sure his kids didn't turn into serial killers and give money to everyone who asked for it, and there were a lot of people asking for it. And all the while he was supposed to pretend like he had the whole thing under control.

Now that responsibility is knocking at my door, I am starting to see how it could easily make a man lose his sense of humor. I'm not ready to be a dad! I can't possibly do all the things that are being asked of me! I still need my own dad. I constantly ask him for help whenever something goes wrong, especially with my car. I get on the phone and describe the problem to him.

“See, when it's in third gear it makes a noise like 'rowr rowr wub wub wub,'” I say. “And then when I shift up to fourth it's like, 'reeeeee-ow-ow-ow-ow-wooooooooooooo.'”

Then my poor dad has to try to diagnose my car problems from that mess.

“Well it sounds like you've got a hyena in your transmission, and then possibly a parakeet in your electrical system.”

Being an adult is so hard. I take some consolation in the fact that my wife is turning into her mother, and it is also hilarious.