He Ate It

When we married, Brad and I made a pact that we would not go to bed angry at each other. Whatever problem presented itself we would work it out, or agree to disagree, but we would not sleep until one or the other occurred. This, of course, meant we would be tested.

I fumed. How could he eat it ALL? I mean every-crumb-the-dish-is-empty kind of consumption.

On our honeymoon, after we’d been married a total of 18 hours, he ate an entire cheesecake. We were on a cruise where food is readily available 24/7 and everything is HUGE. Shrimp the size of baseballs. Cheesecakes the size of dining room tables. Life-size, gorgeous ice sculptures (not for eating).

My new husband, a splendidly muscular 6’7” guy, ate an entire cheesecake. After he’d consumed about half of the cake, I couldn’t believe he was going back for more. I mean, this guy, MY guy, was ripped. No fat on him. Young and fit, this former Texas Tech basketball player could easily down some calories. But… my God, more cheesecake? Should I say something?

I smiled, and whispered, “Wow, aren’t you getting full?”

He replied that he was getting full, but it was so tasty. And he wanted to get his money’s worth on this trip. NOTE: He had a history of being kicked out of all-you-can-eat buffets in his basketball days.

On the way back to our room, he mentioned that he didn’t feel very good. Really??? You don’t say. Among other delicacies on the Midnight Viking Buffet YOU JUST ATE AN ENTIRE CHEESECAKE BETWEEN 12-1 AM!

Then, he barfed it. In the middle of the night, in the trash can of our tiny cabin. We were waaaaay down deep in the ship, where people on the Titanic died without ever smelling fresh air.

Married 2 days.

In the morning, we discovered that Tallguy was TOO TALL to fit in the bathroom with the door closed. He looked like an octopus stuffed into a 10-gallon fish tank. Tiny room = minuscule bathroom. This was like marital hazing. Holy wow. My husband ate until he barfed, and then the other end was running away with the remainder of the poison. And there was no privacy.

Fast forward 2 years, and the entire pan of brownies that I made for us to share was empty. He feigned hunger, and I was not amused.

He noticed that the wrath of God might be a lighter sentence than what I was about to dish out, so we agreed to go to the 24-Hour Fitness down the road a few miles. We would workout, get our happy endorphins going, and resolve the issue. After an hour in the gym, I couldn’t find my husband. I asked guys to check the locker room. Nothing. A gorgeous, super-fit 6’7” guy cannot hide.

I looked out the front door to the parking lot and our Suburban was GONE! As in, not there. As in, he left me at the gym in the middle of the night.

A whole ‘notha level of wrath went through my brain. We would not sleep that night.

I walked two miles home in record time, at 2 AM in the dead of night in a major city. I thought about knocking on our locked door, but instead, I balled up my fist and BEAT on the door loud enough to wake the neighbors.

He opened it.

He wished he hadn’t.

His face changed from happy-go-lucky to… something distorted. Sheer panic. He had no idea what I was made of until that moment. Without exchanging a word, he knew that whatever he’d done had gone sideways. Into the next galaxy. He just had no idea what that was.

I grew up the 4th of five children. There was no such thing as not sharing. He was the youngest of three siblings, an eight year gap between him and the next sibling. Maybe he didn’t have to share?

He was hungry… he ate the brownies. We exercised after midnight to get the mad out and he felt better so he went home. Alone. Without me. Before leaving, he saw me on the cardio equipment, thought I wasn’t finished, irrationally thought I’d call him when I was ready, and he left me there.

This was our first MAJOR argument as a married couple. Triggered by a pan of brownies.

Fast forward 25 years.

We have two boys. The eldest is 6’1” and consumes calories like his father did back in the day. And there is crying and gnashing of teeth because they both like the insides of the brownie, not the edges. There is not enough for each of them to consume NFL-size portions.

Frowny faces. Finger pointing. And then our teenager does it in return.

I remind my still gorgeous husband that this was how he started our marriage. He consumed the entire pan of brownies. Including the edges.

Dad is still learning to share.

Now our teen smiles and says, “I ate it.”