My husband is a lucky man. No, not because he is married to me (although he should give thanks to Jesus EVERYDAY for this), but because he has the best metabolism EVER.
This Saturday is our seventeenth wedding anniversary.
In seventeen years, I have managed to gain twenty-five pounds.
In seventeen years, he has managed to gain zero pounds.
Some days, I am happy for him.
Most other days, like today, I want to pinch his nose closed and force feed him Twinkies until he loses consciousness.
Why am I feeling this way TODAY, you ask?
Observe what we BOTH had for dinner:
First, we ordered drinks (red Sangria) and bread with dipping oil (trust me, it gets way worse):
Then came the official first course which was fresh mozzarella, sandwiched between two pieces of Italian bread, dipped in egg wash, then fried and topped with marinara sauce:
To wash down the fried cheese, we had pasta with bolognese sauce:
Finally, we ended our meal with some UNBELIEVABLE cannolis (one each):
Now, I'll admit. Hubby and I ate the exact same things for dinner. The difference between us, however, is that when we got home, I dragged my sorry ass over to the treadmill because I felt GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY.
And the husband? Well, clearly, he did not feel guilty at all:
And the injustice of it all is that tomorrow, my husband will be the same weight that he is today......
And me? Despite my efforts, my thighs will rub together a little more than they do right now......potentially causing my pants to light on fire.
I don't know who coined the term, "Life isn't fair." But, I'm thinking it was definitely a woman.