My husband isn't really speaking to me.  And this has nothing to do with the fact that I blogged about how he wouldn't separate out the nasty banana Tums from the regular, civil Tums.

I put him on a diet.  As if this is not evil enough, said diet includes the "no-alcohol-during-the-week" edict.  It is as if I have taken out a Bowie knife and slit him from ear to ear. 

I have done this for his own good.  This has nothing to do with the fact that BEFORE I got pregnant and in the midst of our intense negotiations, he may have, in a moment of weakness, promised not to drink during the week if I got pregnant so I wouldn't be cranky about not having a beer for 9 1/2 months.  A promise that he kept for two whole days and then promptly forgot about as soon as we had one of those horrific 100 degree days.

I am doing this because the man likes his beer.  And every woman knows that she can cut 1900 calories from her daily diet, run 7 miles a day and be lucky if the scale drops 2 lbs at the end of the week.  A man, however, can cut beer from his diet and lose 20 pounds in 3 weeks.  Or do anything for 3 weeks and lose 20 pounds.  Bastards. 

So in order to alleviate other issues, the guy has to lose 20 pounds.  I happen to know from personal experience that he once lost 20 pounds in a week by getting a stomach flu.  I guess it's his choice--undercooked chicken or a little liver cleansing.

Meanwhile, I have to run.  Gotta polish off the rest of that half gallon of Breyer's.  You know....I'm eating for two.