Wife is a harsh mistress. She rules with an iron fist, demanding this and expecting that. "Stop wandering around the supermarket without pants," she says. "Don't feed Child Soylent Green! It's PEOPLE!!!" "Go make me some pie, and feed the dog, bitch. We don't have a dog, you say? Get off your ass, find a dog, and give it some Kibbles. Do I have to think of everything?"
Golly I love her.
Her nemesis is Big Sugar. Oh, she loves the sweeeeetz. There is no bigger fan of ice cream, or cake, or cake with ice cream and an apple pie chaser. But she's got what the ancients called "self-control," and has rigorously and effectively controlled her intake.
But she cannot do this alone. No sirbob. We are a team - just check out my jersey and matching sneakers. Thus I too must limit my enjoyment of the desserty goodness. And Child, who gets exactly one cookie a week (that she's aware of). If Wife spies either Child or I gorging on an extra cookie or brownie or pint of ice cream, she deploys her most potent weapon - the repulsed eyeroll. Subtly different from the exasperated eyeroll, in that it contains all of her disdain and aggravation with our respective food choices.
Obviously, this is less than ideal.
But there are domains, locales where I can enjoy a Swiss Cake Roll in peace. There's my office, and in the basement behind our laundry machine, and Papua New Guinea (LOVE those Papua New Guinean cannolis!). And occassionally I partake.
The problem with randomly mainlining sugar is that your body and your brain are completely unprepared. I'm moving along through the week, energy levels barely exceeding "lethargic," and then