My lower lip trembled as I forced myself to meet his gaze. It all came down to this, then. I had competition. "What does she have that I don't have?" I asked softly.
Ross paused, then replied. "Sprinkles."
The Other Woman, dear reader, turns out to be none other than that syrupy-sweet tramp Little Debbie. She's after men's hearts and stomachs, if not their pocketbooks, but she's a dangerous foe. It's hard to compete with high fructose corn syrup and processed white sugar, but I have been doing my best. In fact, as my close friends can verify, I have been trying my hand at baking again, and I have been doing quite well, thank you! My latest triumph was a whole-wheat treat studded with delicious blueberries and topped with a sweet streusel. It was called "Blueberry Boy Bait" and it was incredibly good! I thought I was doing better...but then I found the enpty box of Little Debbie snack cakes in the trash.
I was furious. I had bought them with the intention of putting them in Ross's lunches as an ocassional treat. I mean, those things are crazy high in saturated fat and sugar. Not to mention, they have no nutritional value at all. Here, he had been sneaking them and then returning the box to the back of the cupboard. I hadn't even known he'd opened it, and there the thing was, empty in the kitchen trash. Tricky son of a gun!
It was hurt. I was angry. Sure, I was the Sugar Nazi...then the Sodium Nazi...then the All-Purpose Food Nazi...but I cared about his heart! I didn't want to lose him to diabetes or high cholesterol! And it wasn't like I was denying him sweets. He got all sorts of yummy snacks in his lunch. Cookies, often, in fact. His favorite cookies - Giant Eagle "Magic" cookies - full of chocolate chips and M&Ms. Why would he do this to me?
I confronted him like McCarthy would have grilled a movie queen with socialist sympathies. When had he opened the box? When did he finish it? Why did he decieve me? Then, a new question popped into my head - why was I getting so mad about it?
I once read an article in a secular magazine that talked about treating your husband differently than you treat children. For example, you're not supposed to lecture your husband about what he eats. Feh, I sniffed. What if your husband was eating Hot Pockets three times a day and drinking nothing but Mountain Dew before you met him? Now, I realize...well, he was, of course...but he has improved by leaps and bounds since I started cooking for him 18 months ago. He requests salad. He likes spinach, pepper and asparagus. He loves tuna and salmon. He almost never eats red meat. He prefers whole wheat bread to white bread. He eats lowfat yogurt. He likes lowfat yogurt. He takes vitamins and a baby aspirin daily. He takes a brisk fifteen-minute walk twice daily.
What I am I panicking about?
Maybe I am being unreasonable because both his father and mine suffer from diabetes and sometimes seem older than they are. I love them both too much to imagine losing them at all, much less to a preventable disease. Maybe I worry because I know that I was so sickly as a child, and that poor health habits only contributed to my condition. Maybe - and the most plausible reason - is that I worry because I am still struggling with the issues of trusting and letting go.
I am, like many women, possessing of a controlling nature. While there are many areas in life where this is a benefit, relationships are generally not one of those areas. Plus, it makes me look crazy, worrying about all this stuff. If God cares enough to make sure that wild animals get food, of course he is concerned with Ross's health. My inability to trust Ross to make wise choices regarding food is synonymous with my not trusting God to take care of Ross. Both are really bad decisions on my part, and both lead to more fear and less happiness.
And who on earth needs that?
Tonight, as we head out to a new restaurant for Valentine's Day, I will make a step in the right direction. I won't urge him to avoid the salty fries or the greasy meat. I'll encourage him to get something he will enjoy.
I will, however, pack for him a reduced-sodium ham sandwich, carrots, graham crackers, yogurt and a banana tomorrow for lunch.
We all have to do our part, you know.
Just not obsessively.
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