Biscuits, chips, lollies… these are all contraband in our currently fitness-focused home. What this really means is that I occasionally sneak in a bag of chips at work, or smuggle a box of Shapes into the borderline of our house when Adam’s out.
Of course, truth be told, I’ll invariably get busted: if I’ve been scoffing chips while I’m pissed, I’ll leave the bag lying around; or I’ll wake up with a guilty orange penis after eating Cheetos and jerking off.
This weekend, Adam spied a box of Shapes lying around the house, and staked a claim to part of them. Of course, by the time he’d gotten to them, the contents were in my stomach.
“They have, er… already been eaten,” I spoke with the voice of a shamed biscuit outcast. Then, attempting to spin this in a positive light: “They’re not great for you anyway, if you’re trying to lose weight and all that.”
A glare, then the old traditional threat from Adam: “If you really loved me…” I waited for the latest challenge, expecting simply to be ordered to get some more from the shop. Then again, this is the guy who’s ordered me to start fermenting potatoes IMMEDIATELY when we ran out of vodka once.
“If you really loved me, you’d carve some new Shapes for me from scratch,” he ordered. “SYMBOLIC HEART SHAPES, and if they’re not equilateral, you better watch out!”
“I’ll, er…” I hesitated.
“GET BAKING!” was the bellowed reply.