“If I’m not going to do this right, why bother?”

That’s what I asked my other half, Mike, earlier today.

He wanted to know what we were having for dinner – maybe, chicken salad sandwiches and soup, or burgers and dogs.  Now, I can do some kind of variation of one, but none of the other, and that’s what I answered.  He can have whatever he wants,  but I have to eat what I have to eat.

In response, I got, “We should eat the same food,” to which I answered, “Only if you want something I can eat.

Let me tell you, he doesn’t.  Ever try to get a five year old to eat asparagus?  He gets the exact same look on his face when I sit down with a whole wheat tortilla stuffed with black beans, lettuce, a bit of low-fat cheese, salsa, some chicken…  It’s sort of a horrified sneer face – “EUUUWWWW what is THAT?  That looks disgusting!”

And I do most of the cooking – which is OK, he kills bugs, investigates why there’s a tiny whole in the back yard (I REALLY do not want to know, and he doesn’t tell me even if he’s dying to) and builds fences.

So, I’m sorry, I said.  You either eat what I eat, help me select something we can create a healthy variation of, or help me cook.  I began to get man-pout until I said, “I thought you wanted me to get healthy and happy, and love the way I look?”


We did not eat the same thing, and we compromised on what dinner was, so that I could eat what I need to eat.

I don’t expect to win every round of Dinner Wars – we are very experienced gamers when it comes to Dinner Wars.

However, if there’s one thing I learned the last time I did Body For Life, it’s that you have to be really, really selfish about this sometimes.   When I’m getting ready to work out, I’m going to work out.  Right now.  Not in a few minutes, not in a half hour, right now.  I’m ready, and I’m doing it, and everything else has to wait.  If you are craving a pizza, and I’m pretty sure I’ll fall face first into it the moment it’s in front of me, then you can’t bring one home.  Period.

That’s hard for people who are used to being the primary caretaker of the family, the one who’s used to dropping everything and changing plans, the one who caves so everybody else has what they need or want.  It’s hard to stop, think about what you are about to do and say, “No, I’m sorry, but I have to do this, and you are going to have to wait/change around me.”

And, if people love you, they take it pretty well, even if you have to remind them sometimes about what you are trying to do.


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