Wednesday, March 10, 2010

I Will Not Eat the Barbeque Ribs

My sweet husband took me out to dinner last night for my birthday. I was thinking of getting a nice lobster-fresh in the shell, but I decided I didn't want to do that much work on my birthday. So instead I got a nice seafood platter with scallops, salmon, shrimp and such. It was all coated in wonderful butter with...well, you get the idea.

My husband got a full rack of bbq ribs. Of course, we worked out a tidy little trade at the restaurant: one plump scallop for a large bite of yummy ribs. But in the end, my hubby had a whole half rack of ribs left while I had devoured every last shred of aquatic goodness on my plate. The only way I could walk out of that place with any dignity was that I managed to refrain from licking up the leftover buttery sauce.

I slept in today (after little sleep last night) and woke to find my husbasnd at work and his wonderful ribs sitting coyly in their styrofoam abode in the fridge. Now I would have loved to take a wonderful bite, but I was quickly reminded of a similar incident that occurred while I was pregnant. Of course then it was eggplant parmesan instead of ribs. But my pregnancy hormones tempted me to open the container and have just a couple of bites of his take home. But that turned into me eating pretty much the whole eggplant. When he came home later my hormones told me to rush outside to greet him giddily and confess that I had eaten his tasty food. As I laughingly told him what I had done, I realized that he seemed less cheerful than I was. I asked if he was disappointed and he casually said that he had been looking forward to eating the food himself. He didn't sound angry at all but the baby hormones told me he was terribly disappointed and upset. So I burst into tears and apologized for five full minutes. It took him forever to assure me everything was fine, although I think he ordered eggplant parm for lunch the next work day.

But you see today I have no pregnancy hormones to blame. And even if I confess to eating the ribs and burst into tears, I have a feeling non-pregnant Carrye won't elicit quite as much sympathy from her spouse. So I will distract myself with my baby girl, who lately spends much of her day spitting and blowing rasberries at everything. (That is, when she's not attacking electronic devices.) So hopefully I will stay busy and I will not eat the barbeque ribs.

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