What Would a Good Wife Do?

  

 

     I ponder the question, what would Alicia Florrick do if her husband came home with a pair of silver balls?  Where some of you may see this as a perverted riddle, I found myself faced with this exact dilemma just a few short months ago.   

     My hubby Joe wanted to lose weight although he continued to eat his daily party size bag of Wise Potato Chips into the wee hours of Frazier reruns.  I tried explaining to him, if he wanted to lose any of the gut he had been so public to complain about, high fat and starch was not the diet for a man who had no time for physical activity.  I was not the good wife, I couldn't be blindly supportive when I myself had so much to offer in the arena of diet and weight loss.

    I wish that I myself was a good wife, sweet, supportive, loving, sensitive, and self-sufficient.  But put me in front of a man who complains about weight gain for the first time in his life at the age of 42-and I have no sympathy. 

      On the subject of weight loss, I was a qualified non-professional.   I lost 16lb at the age of nine on a bet I had made with my dad.  No diet plan, just me, smarter food choices and exercise.  Then again at 18, again before winter vacation 2X, then pregnancy weight 2X.  Joe probably thought that since I had to do it more than once in my life, I have not earned my Victoria Secret wings (and without the help of a sharp knife and a skilled cosmetic surgeon, never will).

     Joe’s know it all mentality and my attempt to push my own experiences reminded me of our family trip to Aruba in 2001.  Joe had never been further than Mexico for a hot vacation.  His olive complexion and lazy mornings in had always been a good enough sunscreen.  Joe approached us on the white sandy beach in board shorts, a white t shirt, and mirrored Ray Bans (that I still can't get him to trade in for a pair of Tom Fords). 

     "I've got Banana Boat sunscreen, 30 or 50." I smiled to Joe.

      He shooed away any friendly offering of sunscreen, sunblock, or zinc.

     "Joe," my father warned him, "we're very close to the equator."

     "Equator, shmequator....dad, I'll be fine!!!"  He said laughing at the rest of us slathered in sun screen and taking cover under one of the beach huts. "I didn't realize I was marrying into a family of dermatologists."

      There was no skewing him from his belief that he knew everything under the sun, from fast cars to skin care.  We had fun that picturesque day in Aruba.  We went Banana boating, we went sailing, we smiled through two for one Pina colada  Happy Hour.  After the sunset, and a short lived nap, Joe awoke to the curse of the dreaded sun god.  He couldn't move, he said it even hurt him to blink.

    "Call a doctor.  I'm freezing and burning up at the same time."  He said through a groan.

    I touched his burning skin and he let out a yelp.  "What IS this?!"  Joe screamed.

    "It's a sun burn Joe."  I said semi-sympatico.

     Here we were fifteen years later, dealing with the same sunburn ignorance disguised as a fat ass.

     "Joey, it's midnight.  There are five servings in that bag......that's 750 calories....450 fat calories before sleep." I scolded him.

      He shook the bag, the truth of his skilled shake suggested there were only three servings.   It wouldn't bother me so much if I didn't have to witness him checking himself out in the mirror each morning.  "What the hell is going on with my ass?!"  Joe screamed the next morning looking at his profile.

     "It's Wise."  I said indifferently.

     "It's huge!"  He complained to me.  "I don't get it.  I've been eating the same way my whole life....I never had a problem..." Now he was hyperventilating.

     My inner goddess was thrilled.  In my single days, one of the requirements of my Mr. Wonderful was that he be tall, athletic, and weigh more than me.   What I ended up marrying was someone whose body frame made me feel like the before photo from a fad diet infomercial anytime we stood together.  

   The scales had finally tilted in my favor.  Joe walked into the bathroom.  I could hear the hateful body image machine scraping against the brown tile floor, followed by a painful sigh. 

     Joe went to get dressed, downed his coffee in one gulp, like a Kamikaze shot, and quickly left the house.

     That evening Joe walked in with a smile.  I was relieved to see that he wasn’t carrying the number that set him off in such a hurry that morning.   I offered to broil fish, cut up a salad and we’d go through his diet voyage together.  I began to explain the ins and outs of good nutrition.   Once I realize that he hadn't absorbed a word I said, I stopped talking about high fiber and healthy snacks.  I stared at him as he smirked me into silence.

     "I got the balls."  Joe announced.

     "Excuse me?"  I muffled in hysterics.

     "The balls.  I got those silver balls."  He flicked his earlobe, exposing the shiny silver ball, round and proud.

     The silver balls, otherwise known as the Sadkhin Diet uses acupressure points behind the ears combined with a strict intake of vegetables and milk.  Sure, I'd heard of it before.   Within the first ten days one can expect to lose 5 - 10% of their body weight.  It sounded a bit radical for a guy who'd never eaten a salad.

    Could I play the theme song for Saturday Night Fever each time he rotated his miniature disco balls from behind his ears?   Maybe I’d wrap a towel around my head and chant as Joe rotated his pair, O’Great Genie of weight loss, please grant me a body free of fat.   I wasn’t putting down his attempt to make a positive change, or was I? 

   Alicia Florrick would cut her husband’s vegetables and pour his milk.  She would stand behind him and push him to go to the gym.  She would perform Google searches looking for the best recipes for dieters following the Sadkhin Diet.  She would not be making petty jokes about all the ball rubbing her husband would have to endure.   Nor would she spew facts about Weight Watchers and how diet and exercise give much quicker results than diet alone.  She would not go to the lengths of playing Bee Gee songs every 2 hours… that would be me, Nazira Chabbott.

     Maybe I had a thing or two to learn about myself.  Help is when someone is asked to be useful.  Joe never requested my involvement in his weight loss journey.  Instead of being the sounding board he needed I was being pushy.  Diet is a very personal subject and each person has their own preference.    By Joe’s choice, he’d rub away the pounds with the balls of his choice. 

     So, what does a good wife do when her husband comes home with an extra set of balls?  My answer…  NOTHING.  Smile, congratulate him on making a choice to better himself, (try not to hate him for dropping ten pounds in two weeks)-and laugh silently when he goes back to BBQ chips at midnight.