I only have thighs for you…

Patterns are hard to break. My husband has made significant changes to his eating habits and as a result has lost ten pounds. While I completely support his dietary changes, I haven’t opted to eradicate certain foods that I still love but he chooses no longer to eat. It’s kinda-sorta mean, but not meant to be. As an example, he has told me that he misses cheese and potato chips most of all. He can have goat cheese, but doesn’t like it.

I’m not sure if I should hide the delicious little chunk of Havarti cheese as I nibble in front of him, or if I should make exaggerated sounds of disgust to make him feel better. “Oh, heavens! This is the worst creamy delicious cheese I have ever eaten. Bluck! (Insert orgasmic facial expression) Bluck! You are so lucky you no longer have to put up with this dairy manna melting in my mouth.” See what I mean? It’s a dilemma.

Every Monday our local grocery store offers eight pieces of freshly prepared fried chicken as their special of the day. The smell alone is worth the price. My reasoning is that I can eat the luscious meat in salads and wraps, and our dog can have some too. My husband sighs and pulls off the crunchy seasoned skin and gives me the “why do you keep bringing this into the house” look. I do it because, frankly, I like it. It tastes good. It’s less work for me. It’s comfort food when I’m feeling overwhelmed.

So yesterday as I ordered the chicken at the deli, the service attendant said, “It appears we’re out of legs. Do you mind if I give you two extra thighs instead?” Did I mind? Heck no. Legs are for Henry the 8th wannabe’s. Give me meaty thighs. (Well, in a way, God DID give me meaty thighs. But let’s not go there.)

I was jubilant returning home with my goodies. “I got extra thighs,” I told my husband. He eyed me up and down and stopped himself from saying a single word. Not one. It was the best part of my day.