My husband is blessed with height and a superhero metabolism, which affords him the ability to eat Taco Bell for lunch as often as he pleases. To the contrary, I fall on the shorter end of the height chart and the higher end of the weight chart. I often weigh five-to-ten pounds more than desired, and work hard to keep it at just that.
I struggle with our differences when it comes to my culinary ventures. I don’t want to live my life from one Weight Watchers point to the next. But if I indulged Doug in his requests, we’d be having Mac-n-Cheese Mondays on the reg, and I’d be one overweight, spiteful Large Marge. To complicate matters more, we live in New York City, where each trip to our legitimate grocery store is a seven-block hike, an hour-long commitment, and a good chunk of change. Making two separate meals would mean heavier bags, more time spent, and more money wasted.
Alas, I find ways to make it work. I don’t torture him with diet meals, but I don’t go all-in with unhealthy ingredients. I substitute better meats and throw in as many veggies as possible (even if he picks around them). It may not be the no-carb diet I need at times, and for him, our meals may not be as irresistible as veal parmesan. But it’s a compromise, and isn’t that what marriage is about?