MY FAT HUSBAND

By Jodi Walker

My nick name for Dave started out to be private. Sort of. It's exceedingly difficult to have private anything living in a house with 3 of your siblings and your lover, especially when your parents flit in and out every other weekend. I can't tell you how awkward it was for poor Dave when my dad used to come to the door unannounced to catch up with us ­ at least he knocked. Dave would be lying on the bed in his boxer shorts, unable to get up incase of the accidental release of the vehicle for the y-side of my dad's future grandchildren. My dad, blissfully unaware of the nature of our relationship (sad but true), would have chatted with us all night if I hadn't noticed the daggers shooting out of the half naked man on the bed and shooed him away.

Dave quit smoking 2 years ago. One night, after several months of increased cookie consumption and decreased metabolism, I caught him staring at his profile in the mirror, shirtless, pathetic. "I think I'm getting fat."

Forever and ever, though, from that day forward, he is FAT.

Well, that was all I needed. Dave is about 130 pounds soaking wet. He has a little pot belly, but the skinniest chicken legs you ever saw, and this narrow, narrow face. Forever and ever, though, from that day forward, he is FAT.

The irony of this scenario is that, over time, I have begun to appreciate the remarkable accuracy of the term. Dave is truly a fat person in a not-too-fat body. As am I. Even at the start of our relationship, when he would drop me off at train I caught to work in Atlanta, the last words we would say were, "See you tonight for (substitute the day's plan for a delicious meal, carefully planned and shopped for each Sunday)." EVERY DAY!

"See you for lasagna."
"See you for a delicious chicken and rice casserole." You get the point.

At this point, I can't imagine our life without its epicenter of food.

For most of my rather varied and illustrious dating career, I ended up with non-eaters. You know the type- they have to force themselves to muscle down a half a sandwich each day so that they won't starve; those who eat their favorite foods first in case they run out of room. Please. I had no idea what it was like to be with someone whose life made as broad, sweeping revolutions around food as mine does. At this point, I can't imagine our life without its epicenter of food.

While trips aren't necessarily planned around it, them majority of our vacation time is spent consuming it. While all our conversations don't necessarily touch upon it, more than I'd care to admit center around it, as in fondness for past meals or glee planning future ones

Neither Dave nor I have been blessed with unlimited metabolism. We have created a system to keep ourselves fat on the inside while avoiding embarrassing stares (look at that HUGE couple)... Save up calories all week in order to spend with abandonment on the weekends. I think we have about 10 more years till that boat will sail on toward the golden years...