Ok, if you know me in person and don’t want to get any brain pictures of nasty Weetabix/Esteban things happening, then perhaps you might just skip this here entry. I mean, I don’t want you coming up to me later and saying ‘Dood, that was TOO MUCH INFORMATION!’, because after all, I hate that phrase. It’s become really overused and only shows how little creativity the speaker has when they use it. I even prefer ‘Gag me with a spoon’ because at least it has that whole retro thing going for it. Plus, it reminds me of ‘Valley Girl’, which had a luscious Nicolas Cage in it and sometimes he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And that was a good thing.
Might I suggest you read a previous entry instead? Here’s one I like. Or maybe this one.
If you’re still reading, then fine. Be that way. But I don’t want to hear about this in the future.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
This evening, Esteban grilled some lovely pork tenderloins and we ate just that. I felt truly carnivorous. In reality, it was because I am the side dish girl. That’s my responsibility as the female’ make the dish a well-rounded nutritional meal. Make sure there’s a vegetable. If the husband cooks, there will be no plant matter whatsoever. If it doesn’t come on hoof or claw, it will not be served from the hand of a man.
I’m being sexist. I’m certain that there are some men out there who like vegetables, maybe even prepare them, lovingly. Vegetables other than that which are in cole slaw or baked beans. Vegetables which are prepared in a light stir fry or perhaps grilled and then served with a balsamic garlic dressing. I’ve seen these men on the Food Network. Bobby Flay particularly comes to mind. I know that somewhere, men are cooking, eating and enjoying vegetables.
But not my man.
And honestly, I’ve given up. I mean, he’s thirty years old. I’m not going to stand over him and intone ‘Eat your green beans’. I make the veggies. I eat the veggies. Occaisionally, if he is making dinner, I will ask him to make me a can of peas or some other easy vegetable, which he does very gladly. But tonight, I just didn’t care. Tonight, I let it be and ate like a boy. Two pork tenderloins, thank you very much, and a glass of skim milk.
And afterwards, I suggested that I could use something sweet. Esteban asked what I would like. ‘Ice cream?’ I posed. We discussed this further and Esteban asked if it would make me happy if he went and fetched ice cream and I replied that it would indeed make me happy.
And so he did. And he didn’t know which flavor I wanted, so he bought one cup of every flavor.
Could I be any luckier sometimes? Honestly? Men, if you want your woman feel completely like a princess, bring her home one of every flavor. Unless she’s one of those harpies who would yell at you ‘What? Do you want me to get fat???’ If so, just screw that right there. It’s not worth it.
Anyway, he was bending down to receive a big hug and kiss from me so I offered him a spoonful of my ice cream. He looked down at the moderately filled spoon and said ‘Uh-uh’. Come on,’ load it up!’. So I dug deep into the frozen custard and came up with an enormous spoonful of densely chocolate yumminess. I fed it into his awaiting mouth and his lips closed over the spoon’.
‘..dropping a big dollop of frozen chocolate custard onto my stomach.
‘AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!’ I said, looking down at my light tan shorts and a big glurp of brown giving me a strange belly-button look.
Leave it to Esteban. Master of Efficiency. He bent down and licked it up off my stomach.
Who says you can’t have fun after being together twelve years? Not me.
And you’re a fool if you’re thinking he’s not getting some tonight.
See? THAT’S what you get for bringing home one of every flavor.
I specifically threw the reference to beans in for Jennanik, whom I drove to eat baked beans a couple of weeks ago. TEEE!!!
Ok, maybe it didn’t need that big ass warning above. But seriously, if I have to face them again, I really don’t need them knowing about my husband licking ice cream off my stomach.
Somewhere along the line, too many people I know personally have started reading this diary. I’m thinking of branching off and starting a different one. It’s beginning to bug me.
How do you handle it when people you know read your online diary? Or are you smart and do you keep it very secret? Discuss in the Message Board?
A diary I found by following the lead of BadSnake. Start at the beginning of The Reluctant Bride or you will be very confused.
Another “Six Degrees of Separation From Green Bay”: Joel Hodgson, of Mystery Science Theatre 3000 fame, grew up here. He graduated high school nary two miles from Lambeau Stadium.
Green Bay: Cooler than you thought.
