Kate and I have had our first major disagreement. Our relationship is currently teetering in the balance.
First some deep background. If left to my own devices, I could eat over 17,000 Oreo cookies in one sitting. Some people have a "beer belly"; I have an Oreo Orifice! I have taken this craving so far that I once developed a stealth technique for eating more Oreos than anyone ever intended. This method, which I dubbed "The Getman Milk Mismeasurement Maneuver" works like this: Fill a glass with cold milk (I use 1% milk; you can't be too careful). Next take some lovely Oreo cookies from the package. The trick here is to take two more Oreos for the amount of milk you poured. In other words, if eight ounces of milk generally requires four Oreos, you take six. This will leave you with an empty glass of milk and two Oreos. What a conundrum. Luckily, there is a solution. Simply pour some more milk to help you consume the Oreos. Aah, but here's the genius part: pour two EXTRA ounces of milk which will leave you with no Oreos but some unnecessary milk. Whatever shall we do? Aha! Just get enough Oreos (It's always good to have an extra package around during this segment.) to assist you in drinking the extra milk. Of course, it's entirely possible to take two extra Oreos for the amount of milk you had left, thus starting the process over again.
It's foolproof and hardly noticeable until one day you look down and can't see your feet. You know you have feet because something is allowing you to stand up, but you can't see them.
My dear Ada caught on to this little caper early in our marriage and implemented a ban on Oreos that lasted about 35 years. That was a difficult time for me. God knows Hydrox were no substitute. Don't even talk to me about Vanilla Wafers!
All of which brings us to last Tuesday. Kate usually does the food shopping for us. She generally does her father's marketing and finds it just as easy to do our shopping at the same time. Also, she knows that whenever I try to go shopping in a super market, I never make it out of the snack aisle. Kate has a fairly healthy outlook on this topic and is able to resist the many temptations present in any market. Why just last week she even bought kale. It was a good try, but, unfortunately I have a rare condition that prevents me from ever eating vegetables with four letters. (bye bye beet!)
For some reason as yet unexplained, tucked in amongst the kale, beets, squash, sweet potatoes, and arugula was a lovely package of Oreo cookies. Probably, Kate wanted to reward me for being an upstanding citizen. She probably thought that this one package of Oreo cookies would last until the next presidential election and we could watch the election night coverage while dining on the last of the Oreos. Or maybe she assumed that with the London Olympics just a year away, it would be fun to watch the men's 100 meter finals while eating the last two Oreos, a fitting celebration of international sportsmanship.
So try just for a moment to imagine her surprise when she said last Wednesday evening, "I think I'll have some milk and Oreos. Would you like some?"
"Oh sh#t!" I thought.
I mumbled something from the kitchen that sounded like, "Mmmmbmmmblmmmbl only one left. Ya want it?"
Kate smiled and said, "I must be going deaf. I thought I heard you say there was only one left. How silly of me."
As I sheepishly approached Kate with a single Oreo cookie in one hand and a thimbleful of milk in the other, I hoped that my sweet, kindly smile would disarm her.
It didn't.
Panicking, I quickly thought up a story about crazy Oreo-eating spring breakers from Georgia who, in a desperate attempt to satisfy their filthy habit, had staged a number of Sandestin home invasions recently. I never had a chance to use it. Kate's clever use of a direct question thwarted me.
"Joel, did you eat all those Oreos?"
"All but one. I saved it for YOU."
Kate, in her own sweet way, could do nothing but laugh. What else can you do when it dawns on you that you've signed a year's lease which will force you to live with a chronic Oreo maniac, an Oreonic if you will. Yes, folks, she laughed while I promised never to exhibit such gluttony again. She laughed when I asked if perhaps she would want some kale instead. She laughed when I said, "If it will help any, I'll buy another package of the little chocolate demons and we'll see how long we can make it last."
Cold turkey, people. That's the only way.
Ain't life grand?
J
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