Chubby Mommy

Let us just say, to put things delicately, that whilst taking Alli it is not a good idea to let one’s husband do the cooking. Oh, I told him not to use butter. I told him not to use olive oil. I pointed to the veggie drawer and the ground turkey I’d defrosted, along with my shelf full of cookbooks.

I figured, hey, if he’s offering to cook dinner on a night when I had nothing planned, I’d be foolish not to take him up on it. Besides, his pending business trip means I better take advantage of opportunities to be pampered now, right?

He brought down a lovely looking plate filled with steamed green beans, mashed cauliflower and a casserole-type thing. Beans, cauliflower, turkey — all low fat, right?

Not when the turkey is browned in Wesson oil — the one thing I’d neglected to specifically rule out. Or when he’s added cream to the mashed cauliflower and Italian dressing to the green beans.

I woke him in the middle of the night complaining about Alli’s “unwanted treatment effects.” I knew I’d been good all day long, so only his dinner could be to blame.

“But there’s nothing in there that’s over 15 grams of fat,” he protested.

“That’s 15 grams total, with all the foods combined,” I explained.

“Oh. Say, how come you’re wearing different pajamas than when we went to bed?” he replied. I did not tell him.

But, let me just tell you this much: I will never, ever again look at greasy tacos without getting sick to my stomach.