You know it's a pretty sorry state of affairs when you see something like this coming out of my kitchen:
Mr F got the pick of the litter from the grocery store bakery... (yum?!). I didn't even have matching numbers. What do you want from me?!... We had a showing.
My mother flew Mr F in for his birthday. His job was kind enough to give him Friday off (which seeing as he literally works over 100 hours a week he kind of had coming to him). Of course because of the showing he spent it mowing the lawn while I scrubbed the floors. Oh well... he's a grown up. I did let him pick something out at Target. As I said "You can have anything you want... even Merona."
I also made him weigh himself before bed. Happy Birthday Honey, let's see how fat you are! Something like that. Mr F always goes for it because he has some weird ability to lose weight while drinking soda and eating candy while he works all night long. Then I get all ticked off that I have to work myself into the ground to lose a pound. So he's gotten kind of cocky about it. Well, Sweet baby Jesus... that man has gained 13 pounds in the 2 months he's been in Michigan! (Of course I was kind of happy about that because it just makes me seem even thinner... yes?). I think I said something like "You're gaining more than a pound a week... What are you, pregnant?!" Oh God, it was good times. The next morning as we were eating breakfast at McDonald's (what?! I said we had a showing), I was reading the nutritional info to Mr F. Mr F said "I guess that's where I've been going wrong... the sausage."
Happy Birthday Mr F!