You guys know the junk food rules, right?
Once the box is opened, it doesn't count.
As in, you don't open an intact box of CheezIts, which is an item that was never in your house before you got married because you never even went into those aisles in the store. You just bound yourself to the mast and stuck to the perimeter.
My mom will always ask me, "Why don't you have just a little bit of that ice cream/cake/whatever and put the rest away?"
To which I reply, "I am so grateful for the many good qualities I inherited from you, but apparently, discipline in portion control did not make it into my DNA."
SH says the same thing: "You just need to put stuff on a plate and that's what you eat."
Says the man who has been known to try to hide empty Dill Pickle Flavored Pringles cans in the trash only honey, I know all those tricks, so don't be all Mr Portion Control with me.
SH might think he is wise in his food choices, but his trim physique is due almost completely to DNA. His mom is 5'9" and usually about 119 lbs, a fact she has told me more than once after asking me what I weigh.
More than she does.
On a shorter body.
She seems pleased.
I am all, Whatever. Genes, lady. Genes. There is only so much a person can do with the genetic lottery.
I know my genes and they are begging me to store up resources for the big famine that is surely around the corner, for the harsh winter to come, for sustenance after the Cossacks take all of our potatoes. Eat now, for you might never get to eat again.
I have to inform my genes that the danger of running out of food at my house is very low, as SH loves the whole buying in bulk concept and is a little bit dangerous every time he goes to Costco. As long as a person can survive on crackers and steel cut oatmeal and cheese and bacon, we are set.
Before SH, I fought my genes harder and never ate yummy things like CheezIts. Then I got married and suddenly, there were things in my house - ice cream, chips, CheezIts - that had never been in my house before.
The first rule of CheezIts is you don't talk about CheezIts. The second rule is you don't open a new box. If you open a new box, then you are admitting you are powerless over CheezIts and that you will be eating of the CheezIts.
(The same rule applies to jars of Nutella, which is why I have three unopened jars of Nutella in my basement. Stop giving me Nutella as a present - I cannot open a jar of Nutella. It's like stepping on a crack. It is Not Done.)
But SH left an opened box of CheezIts in the basement two weeks ago when he left for an emergency visit to his mom and dad's to take care of things that 1. never should have happened and 2. they should have been prepared to deal with. I am not going to discuss that stuff here because it makes me too angry. I consider myself lucky that my mom is not a black hole of disorganization and emotional neediness.
He left the CheezIts and I was working out with Shelly on Gymbox and she was taking too long to load her weights and I was a wee bit hungry and I was right there, in the basement. All I had to do was go into the laundry room and look on the pantry shelves and there it was - an opened box of CheezIts.
I worked out with Shelly four times while SH was gone.
([60 minute workout] + CheezIts) * 4 = empty box of CheezIts.
SH got home and found the empty box in the recycling.
He shook his head sadly. "CheezIt eater!" he accused.
I hung my head in shame.
"Are you going to - " he paused "open a new box?"
No. I am never the box opener. But once he opens the box, I am the box finisher. Once again, my genes win.
** Wait. I checked. I lie. I have opened the Nutella. I had forgotten. I had opened it when I took the jar to work for a potluck. Almost nobody took any. I remember every now and then that it is there, open, and stick my finger in it, although with as cold as it has been, a finger is not the optimal method of removing product. But the two-pound jar remains sealed.