Humor Magazine

When the Cat’s Away the Mouse Eats Like a Bachelor

By Dianelaneyfitzpatrick


Being on a diet and having a husband who’s out of town don’t mix. It’s a particularly deadly combo for the person who’s on a legitimate plan to eat right, because who’s going to have an ounce of sense when left alone with no one watching?

My husband went to Dallas for a few days in the middle of my renewed enthusiasm for Livestrong’s tracking program. It’s a website where you enter everything you eat, every exercise you perform, every glass of water you drink, and disgraced bicyclist Lance Armstrong either tells you you’re doing a “super job! Way to go, girlfriend!” or tells you “You are pukes. You’re the lowest form of life on earth. Now drop and give me 20, fatass.”

I’ve been on Livestrong several times. You would think it’d be right up my alley, since I’m so into charting and logging. Keeping Track of Shit is one of my best skills, right under Making Up Creative Excuses Why Kids Can’t Go Play With Kids They Don’t Want to Play With and Remembering TV Theme Songs From the ’60s. So opening up my laptop and logging onto Livestrong every time I take a bite or sip of something should make me happy. Adding another 14 Snyder’s Pretzel Nuggets for Snack on Today should be something I look forward to doing.

You would think.

The problem is not adding 14 Snyder’s Pretzel Nuggets for Snack. It’s adding 6 oz Cookie Batter from Two (2) Hand Mixer Beaters and Seven (7) Fingers Full of Frosting Swiped From Side of Bowl, Chocolate Fudge for Linner. Because when my husband is not home, that’s how I do meals.

When it’s just me at home, I not only don’t cook for myself, I don’t even properly unwrap the crappy food that I eat. I’ve been known to grab two Butterfingers at the checkout at Walgreens and have them with wine for dinner. If you have a dimmer switch, two candy bars look like meat.

I hear some people make themselves a salad for dinner when they’re alone. I get as far as the refrigerator, where I look at the lettuce, a cucumber, radishes and a container of black olives and I go, “Aw, man, I’m gonna have to put that all in a bowl?  And pour dressing on it all myself?” This from the woman who makes a from-scratch meal almost every night that her husband is home.

The first day my husband was in Dallas, I got hungry at 10 a.m. so I ate a leftover spicy chicken enchilada, cold, right out of the 9-by-13 glass pan it had been baked in and left all alone in the frig. That kept me until dinnertime, mostly because of the 8 ounces of sour cream I loaded onto it. At around 5, I ate two handfuls of wasabi peas, some rice crackers, a half box of Cheez-Its, and four (4) Buckeye candies that were left over from a party.

So when my husband called and asked what I had for dinner, I said, “Um, an enchilada.” (It’s not a lie because we’re legally married. Look it up. It’s true.)

But you can’t lie to Lance. (He might actually be personally checking up on me. I understand he has some spare time on his hands.) So when logging in my sorry excuse for meals, I’m at a loss. Where is the Peanut Butter, 2-3 TBSP From Spoon While Giving Dog Her Pills? Or Crumbs Left in Bottom of Salt ‘n Vinegar Potato Chips Found in Back of Pantry? Or Bread, French, Dipped Into Grease in Bottom of Roaster? Or Candy, Halloween, 9 oz, Found in Buffet Behind Shot Glasses While Spring Cleaning?

Lance’s database is in dire need of updating. I suggest a sub-site for Temporarily Separated Married People With No Discipline or Self Respect.

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Read more of Diane’s Just Humor Me columns hereSign up for our weekly e-newsletter to get new blog post notifications. And if you like her blog, you’ll love her book, Home Sweet Homes: How Bundt Cakes, Bubble Wrap, and My Accent Helped Me Survive Nine Moves.

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