A CHIP off the Ol' Block

My husband has a problem. A serious problem. Actually, it's more of a condition, then a problem. He's a chronic thrower-outer. And yes, that is the official medical term. You see, he throws everything out. And I mean everything.

Any type of food that has had it's temperature altered for more than thirty seconds, is game for the garbage pail, at any given moment. That last, juicy piece of Easter ham that you had been craving all day--gone. Oh, didn't you see? A smidge of mashed potato cross contaminated it while you were transferring it into the tupperware Sunday night. Yeah, it had to be thrown out.

And that Reese's peanut butter cup that you had hidden in the fridge, for that late night chocolate fix--Sorry...freezer burn, had to get rid of it.

This has been the story for many a food item at my home in the past seven years. And for the most part, I've gotten used to it. Typically, if I want any food that I don't eat in the first 24 hours after I bring it home from the grocery store, I try to make it well-known. And I have somewhat established the rule of, if there is nothing growing on it in the fridge, then it is still edible, and it is off limits to the garbage man. I've also adjusted pretty well to the fact that the term "leftovers" is null and void at our home. The Good Lord knows leftovers don't stand a chance next to my husband.

So, as a good wife, I've put up with many disappearing food disappointments, and I've accepted the numerous stories of my husband's bouts of "food poisoning"... If I had a nickel for every food poisoning episode...

As adjusted as I am, in this state of pregnancy that I am in, certain things are just unacceptable. Like the disposal of a perfectly brand new bag of sour cream n' onion Baked Lays--completely unacceptable. I had bought them about three days ago, and then like most things I bring into my car, they were stranded to my front seat since. (It was either carry up the chips, or my sleeping two year old.)

This evening, as I felt a crunchy craving coming on, I asked my husband what he did with my brand new bag of Baked Lays. I should've suspected their fate, as I watched my husband's face droop, and his words begin to stutter. He couldn't even look me in the eye. I knew it.

"You threw them out???"

"I didn't throw them out."

"I cannot believe you threw them out!"

"I'm telling you I did not throw them out. While I was cleaning out the garage with the kids, we opened them up and started eating them."

"And then you threw them out?"

"NO! I did not! We started to eat them...and then...(he totally was trying to make it up as he went along,) our son was eating them all, so I put them on top of the car."

"Wait, let me guess, the old man up the street walked by and asked if he could borrow some potato chips?"

"NO, I'm telling the truth."

"Okay, so what...technically you didn't throw them out...the kids probably dropped them on the floor, and all these bugs started to come, so you had to vaccuum them up real quick...right?"

"No, I didn't."

"Okay, so if that didn't happen, and you didn't throw them out, then could you please go down to the garage and get my Baked Lays?"

"Okay, I will."

My loving husband proceeds to walk down the basement stairs. I heard him get halfway down and then head back up.

"OH, I remember what happened...the kids were starting to eat them all...and so I let them eat some, and then put them on top of the car...and then when we drove to the park, I forgot I had put them on top of the car, and I drove off."

"So, you are honestly telling me that my chips are spread out through our entire neighborhood?"

"Yeah, they're probably down the big hill, ya know, the one with all the bumps?"

"Unbelievable."

I had no more words. I could not and still cannot, grasp the untimely demise of my chips. Undeserved I say, undeserved.

And so the reign of my husband, the garbage man, continues on, and one more innocent food item gets thrown into the trash bin...or in this case, pavement.