Being Married to a Dietitian

Most people feel sorry for my husband. Married to a Dietitian he has been apparently indoctrinated to feel guilty for eating like a pig.

Courtesy of ecards

Before I met Chris he ate a lot. I mean, a lot! A four pack of doughnuts could be demolished in one sitting. He would never have considered weighing out his pasta and rice portions. An all you can eat buffet would be considered a challenge. Chris would eat until he physically couldn’t eat anymore every single time.

He’s admitted to have cut down a lot since we got together and been a lot more aware of what he puts into his mouth. He claims to hear my little voice in his ear telling him what he should and shouldn’t be eating. Lies I’m sure! He also has admitted to feeling better for eating less; not as bloated and uncomfortable and just generally better.
My family think he is now starved and it is a standing joke that he gets “fed up” with no real excuse. Scones, cakes, cheesecake. You name it. My mum is pretty much standing at the door when we arrive, with a slice for her poor, deprived son-in-law.
But usually he is pretty good. Until we go on holidays. The gauntlet opens and the bottomless pit re- surfaces. All inclusive is paradise to any food lovers. Food is on tap all day. My darling husband makes the most of that. Three huge meals, puddings, ice cream, cakes and drinks. Don’t worry he packs the Rennies. I pack the noseplug.
The joke is on me actually. It’s flipping hysterical to my family watching him fill his boots. Poor evil Dietitian wife has to look on and just deal with it. Honestly, it doesn’t bother me too much. A holiday is a holiday; food and drinks included. Of course he is going to indulge and enjoy himself. So am I! Take a look at his plates:

That’s only ONE course of THREE at breakfast
Standard desserts

The farting afterwards, mind. That’s another post in itself…don’t you feel sorry for him?