Our efforts at eating healthier didn't last very long at all...
Published 13/08/2016 | 00:00
My husband has always been one of those lucky men who doesn't put on weight. It's sickening actually! He can sit in front of the telly and demolish a packet of biscuits night after night and not an ounce will show on the scales...until recently.
After listening to me complaining about how much weight I'd put on while on holidays, he smugly stepped on the scales, confident in the knowledge that he'd weigh exactly the same as he did before we went, only to step off ashen faced.
'What's wrong?' I inquired. 'If you tell me you've lost weight, I'm going to inflict serious injury on you.' This is the way it usually unfolds after holidays-he eats and drinks everything in sight: he stays the same. I eat and drink everything in sight: I get roundy, or chubby, or stout, whatever you want to call it.
But this time was different. 'I've put on nearly half a stone' he stammered in shock. Obviously I squealed in delight! In fact I think there may even have been some jumping up and down on the bed after which I calmed down and offered some fake sympathy.
'Right. We need to go on diet.' As soon as the words came out of my mouth I was backtracking. 'Well not exactly a diet...more a health kick, you know, just eating healthier.' He was in total agreement. 'I look about 6 months pregnant,' he cried rubbing his beer belly. Honestly I never knew he was that vain!
So we sat down to discuss the logistics of this health kick. I was only to give him two potatoes with his dinner, as opposed to his usual five. I wasn't to buy biscuits or chocolate or those mint magnums that he's so fond of and peanuts and crisps were to be banned. I informed him that there was to be no more fries at the weekend, if he sees me with cheese or white bread he is to cut my hand off and I am to be rationed to one bottle of wine per week (not including weekends!) as opposed to per night.
It all sounds great in theory. The problem is when you start to put it into practice. His two potato dinner only barely took the edge off and by 8 pm he was hungry. I was drinking tonic water trying unsuccessfully to pretend it was a G & T and not in the mood for a cranky husband.
He stormed out to the kitchen opening cupboards and slamming them again. He comes back in empty handed looking distraught. 'There's no Tayto!' he announces accusingly.
'I know. I didn't buy any. We're supposed to be on a...eh health kick.'
'F*** sake. Can't even have a bloody bag of Tayto now,' he grumbled before switching over to the Olympics. I suddenly remember there's a bag of crisps in my handbag from our recent visit to Tayto Park.
'If I can have a real gin and tonic I'll give you a bag of Tayto,' I suggest. He doesn't even pause.
It was never going to last!