Sunday, September 25, 2011

When I am hungry, your job is to feed me.

So I've stopped being hungry alllll the time, which is good, except that my brain is still used to eating every 2 hours and I find myself fighting myself from eating when I'm not the least bit hungry. (Because I'm not eating, say, an apple. I'm eating entire boxes of Hot Tamales. The baby likes cinnamon, damnit.)

When I AM hungry, however, it means I need to eat. And I need to eat now. (Some of my girlfriends have referred to this pregnancy side effect as 'being so hungry I would eat my own arm.')

I refer to this as pure hunger insanity. Case Study time:

Last night, around 6:30pm. At 5:30, Hubby had asked if I was ready for dinner. I replied, "yes." He laughed and replied that he had actually said, "What time will you be ready for dinner?" Either way, he got the point. Or so I thought.

Hubby: Ok, so what do you want to eat?
Pammy: I don't know. Food. I'm hungry. I told you an hour ago I was hungry. But I don't want Red Lobster. All I will eat there are the biscuits.
H: (Pouts, as he has been talking about Endless Shrimp for 3 days) Fine. I'll go with what DO you want.
P: Siiiigh. Basque? I want bread. Somewhere with bread. Benjy's? BJ's? I'm into B words today. Pick one. Feed me.

I finish putting makeup on. Hubby goes into the bedroom, comes out in sweat shorts.

P: ...Or you could get dressed because I AM HUNGRY.
H: Whaaat. You don't look good either, what if we just get drive through?
P: ......I don't LOOK GOOD? What the...?
H: Siigh. You know what I mean.

I do. I've got a cold and am currently kind of a snot monster. Hence why I put on extra mascara and concealer, but WHATEVER.

P: What kind of drive through?
H: Leo's? (One of those awesomely ridiculous burger/greek/mexican/etc. places)
P: Whatever.
H: You want to eat there?
P: Oh, god no. They play religious music in there. Drive through takes forever, but at least I don't have to hear Jesus Effing Loves Me while I eat.
H: Fair enough.

At Leo's, which has the largest drive through menu ever, btw.

P: Ok, I want mushrooms. And taquitos. And a green salad.
H: AND mushrooms?
P: YES, AND mushrooms…oh, fuck, just get me a chicken salad.
H: You don't want taqu—

He orders, remembering, as always, that I don't want croutons or cheese. Which reminds me that I want some damn bread and therefore kind of DO want croutons, but I decide to shut up about it. We pull forward.

P: Oh, crap, they have taco salads. I want that. Do you think we can change it?
H: Really?
P: Yes, really. I didn't SEE it before.

We pull up to the window, where we wait. And wait, way too long to change the order.

P: Gah. So much for my taco salad. This is dumb. And I still want bread.
Most Patient Husband Ever: They have toast, want me to ask for toast?
P: I don't want it toasted.
H: Just bread.
P: Just bread. Maybe they have dinner rolls?
H: Good call, they have to. I'll ask.

And then we wait some more.
Guy comes to the window, Hubby asks if they have dinner rolls.

Guy: How many do you want?
H: Babe?
P: Two.
H: Two.
Guy: Ok, I'll charge you 50 cents, cool?
H: Yep, great.

I do a happy little bread dance in my seat.
And then we wait. Some more.

Guy comes to the window with rolls, and my heart leaps.

Guy: You want these now or in the bag?
H: No, in the bag is fine.

Window closes, he disappears again.
I stare at my husband, mouth dropped. He stares back as it slowly occurs to him why I'm giving him the deathstare.

P: Are you.Fucking.KIDDING ME? Did that JUST HAPPEN??
H: What…but…seriously?

And then the tears come. I fight them off, but they are definitely there.
(He is trying SO hard not to laugh at me at this point, which reminds me that I made a good marital decision after all.)

And so we wait. I pout and make little whining comments about how close the bread is to me and I can seeeee it from my seat and what is taking soooo long and OMG if they forget to put my bread in the bag I will cut someone, and he acts like I'm not being a complete psychopath.

And then there is food.

P: Bag. Give.

The dinner roll"s", by the way, are just one small roll cut into two pieces. And toasted.

H: Those look good.
P: Do you want a bite?
H: No, babe, you eat it.
P: You can have a bite…baaaabe! Not THAT big a bite! (as I literally pull it OUT of his mouth to control his portion size.)

We pull onto the street as I finish chewing the second one.

H: Did you just…?
P: Um, yeah, they're gone. They were tiny. I told you I wanted bread, damnit.

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