Earlier today I was thinking about how it sucks that I have to work so much harder than Andy does to make less money than he does all because my vagina is being penalized. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds.
Speaking of being screwed by your vagina (aka gender inequality) today when I came home from work and immediately cooked dinner like I always do not because anyone asks me to but because there’s a societal expectation that as a woman I am supposed to take care of the house and family and … WHOA! Sorry about that. I sent my daughter to a liberal arts school and clearly I’ve spent way too much time talking to her lately. I’m all for feminism, don’t get me wrong, but this is a post about co-dependent fat people.
What I was trying to say was, tonight I made a batch of Red Lobster cheddar bay biscuits for dinner because Andy loves them and I love cooking things that make him happy. But he wants me to be happy too so he does things like eat way too many and then tell me I should eat more because he feels bad for eating too many and then I eat more because I feel like he has given me some permission I needed or something and then the next thing you know, we seriously ate an entire batch of cheese and butter filled dough. 14 biscuits, you guys. I am not even exaggerating. I’m fairly certain we aren’t going to make it until morning. I think I can actually feel my arteries congealing as I type this.
The sad thing is, we do this crap all the time. Not just with food either, but with being lazy. Andy is very sedentary and constantly talks me into joining him in sedentary activities. I do it easily because I like spending time with him and the things we do together are fun. The thing is though, when Andy and I got together 7 years ago, I was strictly watching what I ate and exercising every day and he was controlling his portions and trying to make a point to be less sedentary. We have become locked in a co-dependent relationship where we are each dependent on the other to allow us to be fat.
So I guess the first step is admitting we have a problem. The second step is making the rest of the cheddar bay biscuits and taking them to the pot luck I’m going to on Saturday.
Also, even though they’re mine, I’ll say it. Boobs. That’s not a step, that’s pointing out the white elephant in the room. Literally, in this case.