Toby got back yesterday. I picked him up at the Bedford L at around 5 PM. The first thing he asked me right after I got a kiss was, “Where are the cats?” As if I make a habit out of driving those little guys around.
I had napped earlier and so I was pretty hungry when I awoke. By the time he hopped out of the L Train, I was famished, ready to eat him and everyone in sight.
Now, there’s something the Internet should know about Toby Joe and myself. You know how they say that couples fight over money or sex? Neither of those things is true for us. We fight over what we will consume, where we’ll consume it and WHEN that will happen. I wish I were exaggerating. But I have a tendency to become a raging bitch when I’m hungry.
You hungry?
Yeah.
Me too. Where you wanna eat?
Don’t care. You choose.
No. You’ve been away. You choose.
Nope. Let’s go with the first place you say.
I’m not playing that game. You just pick. It’s easy. Pick.
Nope.
Then, we’re gonna head home I guess.
And then we sat in silence the entire drive home.
When we got home, the hunger became more intense. I knew it’d probably be hours before I’d actually eat anything, so I sliced off a small piece of homemade rye bread.
Decide where you wanna eat yet?
I told you, you decide.
It was at that moment, I had an idea. I took a piece of paper from our printer and began to tear it into small pieces.
Pick a number between 1 and 20.
17.
I tore out 17 strips of paper and began to write down the names of restaurants we had been to over the years.
Planet Thailand. The Italian restaurant on Graham. Enid’s. Aurora. Relish. Dumont. Tony’s. Myako. The Fish Shack. Kates. Queen’s Hideaway. Sweetwater. Bean. Spanish place on Bedford. Amarin. Fanny’s. And, lastly, “Bean’s Choice. HAS TO CHOOSE”.
I folded them up, one by one, and placed them in a bowl.
Here, pick one. If you like it, we’ll stick with it. If you wish to try again, you may. You’re allowed to pick three from this bowl. At that point, you have to choose.
He picked Planet Thailand and “Bean’s Choice. HAS TO CHOOSE”. Awesome. Easy. Done.
In our unconscious attempt to prove that the standard does not apply to us as a couple, we stayed in and ordered from Amarin.
A co-worker of mine once said, “Some of the worst fights my wife and I have ever had occurred simply because she was hungry.” He’s convinced this hunger/bitch phenomenon is unique to women and, in my experience, I’d have to agree.
We’ve actually not spoken to each other for an entire evening because of my hunger rages. It’s a little crazy.
we have the same problem…i hate dinner
My ex took to carrying snack-sized Snickers in the car for just this situation. My blood sugar would drop off and all semblence of rational thought would depart. We have instituted the “no debate” rule if I announce impending blood sugar drop.
heh … i love reading this blog.
to be fair, you should have included a slip that said “mihow’s choice: i have to choose.”
Fair?
She’s a wife, dude. Wives are like cats. Their job is to torture me, then act all innocent and snuggly. There is no fairness.
You think wives and cats are tough? Wait until you have a daughter! Your daughter will share genes from your wife, your mother-in-law, your sister, and your mother.
There is nothing more ruthless or undeniable than a daughter.