Couplehood by Paul Reiser Read Free Book Online Page A

Like without this information, they’d be keeping secrets.
    You come home: “You know what I had today? Milk. Milk and a half a cucumber. How do you like
that?
”
    Like it’s an accomplishment. You’re proud that you can sustain your body weight despite a punishing nutritional intake.
    Sometimes it’s more of a confessional. You feel bad about what you ate, and you want to enlist the help of your partner in berating yourself.
    “You know what I ate today? A bacon burger, M&Ms, and a thing of fried onions I found in the car.”
    “You’re a bad person.”
    “That’s what I thought—wanted to make sure.”But someone always gets hurt in these conversations.
    “I had a bowl of cereal and two fat-free cookies.”
    “Is that good or bad?”
    “I can’t believe I ate so much.”
    “But the cookies were fat-free.”
    “Yeah, but I ate
two.
”
    “Well, you look great.”
    “I’m stuffed.”
    “So we won’t eat anything tonight.”
    “Don’t tell me what I can eat.”
    W ith someone you love, food becomes politics.
    We’re in a restaurant and I’m about to eat a big fried piece of something crusty, and my loved one, very discreetly, gives me the little “Do you really want that?” look. I think, “She’s probably right.” And I pass.
    Later—during the
same meal
, she orders some Chocolate Sticky Pie of Death, and I, in the most loving tone I can muster, step into the ring with “Sweetie, are you going to be upset later if you eat that?”
    She looks at me for a long time, tells the waiter to go away, and then flings one of those really big spoons at my throat.
    I say, “Hey, wait a minute, you said the same thing to me.”
    She says, “Yeah, ’cause
you
don’t mind.”
    “Right, because you said it out of Love. Out of Concern.”
    “That’s right.”
    “So, if I say the same thing to
you
, wouldn’t you naturally assume that I—”
    “It’s different.”
    “Why?”
    “Because
I
mind.”
    You see how it works? There are different eating rules for each of you. But, again, you don’t know what they are until you’ve broken them.
    We’re out for dinner, the food comes, and I jump in. I grab the pepper thing and put some pepper on the food. I start eating.
    And I notice I’m getting the look. I’ve done something wrong. I look up. “What?”
    She skips the specific and goes straight to the general. Very sweetly: “Let me make it easy for you: If you ever have something, anything at all, please see if I’d like some.”
    I said, “Did you want pepper?”
    She goes, “No, but I might.”
    “But you didn’t actually want—”
    “It would be nice of you to think of
me.
”
    “Okay, I understand that, but just to clarify about the pepper—you don’t want any.”
    “No, thanks.”
    “You’re not interested in pepper.”
    “Not this time.”
    See? We were just setting the rules for next time.
    S ometimes you have to make up rules as you go along.
    Example:
    My bride is trying to not eat meat. I try to be supportive.
    “Do you want me to
not
eat this chicken in front of you?”
    “No, no, it’s fine.”
    “ ‘Cause I don’t want you to be tempted and then eat it and feel bad about it.”
    “I won’t.”
    “And I don’t want you to make
me
feel bad about eating meat.”
    “No, no, I won’t.”
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah, I’m fine. Eat the chicken.”
    Fine. So I’m eating the chicken, and I notice she keeps watching me eat.
    I say, “What?”
    She picks up my plate and with a real sad face says to my food, “I’m sorry people eat you, Mr. Chicken.”
    “Hey!”
    “What?” she says.
    I say, “Don’t do that.”
    “Do
what?
”
    I had to think for a second, then came up with, “Don’t apologize to my food while I’m eating it.”
    Isn’t that sad? That was the best rule I could think of. In case it ever came up again, and we needed to refer to a mutually agreed upon bylaw, I decreed that from that point forth, “Thou shalt not apologize to my food while