We’re out of milk today. See?
Well, we weren’t out of milk this morning, but by the time I made a batch of miserably under-cooked pancakes [yes, I fail at pancakes every time, even though I use a mix from a box from a store], we certainly were. Out of milk, that is. This is the first time in our marriage that we have used up an entire gallon of milk just by drinking it, before it went sour.
“What else do you do with your milk, Camille…besides drinking it?”
Good question. We like to fill up water balloons with it and have neighborhood reconnaissance parties with our homemade grenades.
No, not really. What I mean is, usually I use more than half the gallon of milk just in baking projects during the week. Only lately, I haven’t been baking much (on account of we’re fat up here at our house) and so I didn’t think we’d be able to get through an entire gallon, sans goody-baking. [“Sans” means “without” in French. It’s pronounced “sahn”–it’s a very chic word to use, I’ve noticed. “Chic” means “trendy” in French…]
Anyway, we drank a gallon of milk all by our grown-up married selves, and now Poor Kyle has to eat his Cinnamon Toast Crunch–the only cereal my husband will ever endorse as worth his energy to eat–sans milk.
That is also a good question. About two weeks ago, we decided we’d go on a couples diet. Isn’t that quaint? Couples, dieting together, like we love and support each other or something.Well, it would be quaint if we were actually dedicated about it. The following things are contraband on account of our diet:
-sugar (not the natural kind from fruit, just the kind in candy. And cupcakes. And fruit snacks.)
Unfortunately, between the two of us, we’ve blown every aspect of our couples diet, and I think we may have actually gained weight since committing ourselves to “the cause.” Poor Kyle refuses to work out (and by work out I mean walk–walk–farther than the house to the truck) with me, and I’ve decided a life without Diet Dr. Pepper is not a life worth living.
On top of that, Poor Kyle swears he never committed to stop eating sugar–just soda and fries. I don’t want to call my husband a liar or anything…but…I think he’s lying.
At any rate, our diets are blown all to heck; we pretty much failed before we started. And since we’re miraculously out of milk this Sabbath morn, Poor Kyle is now forced to eat dinner–yes, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, beacuse I don’t cook on Sundays anymore, since I like to rest too–bone dry. Parched. Arid. Moistureless. Dehydrated.
A guy I used to date once told me that he felt sorry for the poor fool who got suckered into marrying me.