I Just Want to say That I Love My Husband...

David & Lucy, 2 of the 3 loves of my life...

I feel I have to publicly declare my love before you read this post because David’s been doing some freaky business in my kitchen and he’s messing up my kitchen happiness and so although I adore him and want you to understand he’s my best friend and an incredible father to the girls and a wonderful patient - dare I say, saint-like - husband to me and my difficult self, he’s also a big freak.

And he’s cramping my style.

See, there is not a fad this man has not loved. If it has been invented by Ron Popeil, sold on TV for $19.99, written up in some magazine or promoted as the next life-changing, anti-aging, cancer-killing, energy-enhancing, environment-supporting, cholesterol-reducing, fountain-of-youth thing, my husband has bought it.

And not just bought it and used it like a sane person. No, David has taken it on as his new lifestyle.

Australian Bush-wacker.

Take for instance his sudden obsession with powdered fruit – 54 kinds of fruit all ground up into a powder that you can drink when added to water. He did this to avoid actually eating the fruit.

“Why eat fruit one at a time when I can eat 54 fruits I one sitting?” he says to me, with little grains of fruit powder hanging in his beard.

That's what I want...a man with ground up fruit clinging to his body hair.

That little, tiny black speck thing on the right side of the rock is my husband. Not that I was worried or anything.

Doesn't that big boulder he's climbing look like it might tip over? Not that I was worried or anything.




Yep, that's him. These were taken in Joshua Tree. Not that I was worried or anything.


David with Lucy and her friend, Carson climbing the rocks. Not worried about that inappropriate activity either.

Anyway, a 3 month supply of his powdered fruit came in like these enormous tubs that were too big to fit in any NYC-sized cupboard and so they piled up unattractively on the kitchen counter and every three months the wacka-doodles at the company sent a bunch more of their enormous tubs, automatically charging David’s credit card another whopping $85.98 and of course, David was headed off to Hatha Yoga or whatever the next fad was and had finished lecturing me about how I would grow old and withered with my leathery skin hanging off my face and he would drink his fruit and look 29 and hot with his face like George Hamilton.

The gi-normous tubs kept coming and we kept getting billed and David kept forgetting because he had dropped these fruit people like yesterday’s Hatha Yoga and one day when I was hormonal and pregnant I yelled at some poor phone operator and threatened to send the tubs to her house if she didn’t stop our order immediately and then I think I threatened her puppy or something equally offensive and they wiped us off the roster for good.

Apparently, fruit powder doesn’t make you a nicer person.

David & Edie, looking for trouble on the playground.

Then, there was David’s “personal productivity” period where he obsessively read “personal productivity” literature and performed long tireless sermons about how I could save like 2 minutes a day if I just spent 100 hours setting up some kind of personal organizational system and then, there was lots of talk about how it would be better if I were organized just like him which made me consider setting a up a “personal productivity” system where I just stopped listening to him and that would save me like 3 hours a day.

Another rock climbing trip to The Gunks, in New Paltz. David feeds Lucy cereal in the hotel.

Now, I am faced with David’s latest obsession - The Rosedale Diet.

He’s in my kitchen this morning pointing out carbs on our plates like they were meal worms that had fallen into our food. He actually said to me, “If you put that spoon in your mouth that rice will convert to sugar and your body will burn it instead of fat…Tsk Tsk”

He "tsked" me. Freak.

America's Next Top Model Wanna-Be

David came home a week or so ago with a new diet book (this Rosedale thing) in his hand and declared that he would no longer eat pasta, rice, booze, bread, anything with sugar or fat. And then he mumbled something this morning with his head in the refrigerator about maybe only eating meat a couple times a week and how maybe I could cook with less butter.

Then, he amended himself and said butter was good, but the V word was mentioned (vege-freaka-tarian) in several different ramblings and I had to leave before some family mandate was declared and David started pulling duck fat and slab bacon out of the back of the fridge and hucking it into the trash.

Now, I'm in Starbucks licking my wounds, spending the girls college fund on venti black iced teas and hoping no one will steal my lap top when I go to the bathroom. The worst part of this little melodrama is that his new diet...excuse me, I mean "lifestyle" (apparently "diets" don't work, but "lifestyles" do or so it goes in the sermon) has helped him lose enough weight to make him weigh less than me and to make matters worse after the pregnancy, we now have the same shoe size.

His new "lifestyle" makes me feel like crap.

At least I know it'll only last another couple of weeks...

xxoo YM

P.S. For those of you who might consider writing me to tell me how mean I am to my husband, just know that he's been asking me for the last two days when I was going to "send him up" on my blog.

This is what you get, dear hearts, when you dance with celebrity.