Oatmeal vs. Pizza

My husband has recently, in the last few months, been getting back into his faith. He is Catholic and therefore can not eat meat on Fridays. This is the catalyst of what lead to the the minor skirmish known as “Oatmeal vs. Pizza”.

photo credit craveonline

It all started when we realized we both worked Valentine’s day. We decided to delay our Valentine’s date until the Friday we were both off of work. We had always wanted to go to this revamped bowling alley nearby. We heard the rumors of virtual reality video games and food there being top notch.

Then we checked the prices.

Twenty bucks for one game of bowling. We were stuck.

We didn’t know what to do for our date until the next day I went to work and my boss asked me what we had planned to do for Valentine’s day and she jokingly said, “Work?” When she discovered what we had originally wanted to do, she gave us tickets to two free games of bowling. I couldn’t believe it, it was kismet.

Everything was set in motion, we would wake up, go bowling, play some video games, eat some great food and let off some steam while acting like a bunch of oversized children.

On the 16th, we arrived at our destination, tickets in my wallet ready to play. We walk in the door to be greeted by a huge abstract sculpture of a bowler. Immediately on the right was the virtual reality we heard so much about, to the left was the restaurant. We didn’t realize, this wasn’t just traditional bowling alley food. This was a definite upgrade and worthy of a Valentine’s date.

We sat down, and admittedly our eyes were bigger than our bellies. The menu had options for someone like me, who is gluten free but misses the gluttony of being able to consume a whole pizza. They had items for him who needed to be meat free on Fridays.

We both ordered pizza, mine gluten free with my usual black olive, pineapple and chicken. His; a large veggie pizza. His pizza was glorious, it had every vegetable imaginable on it from artichoke, to peppers. Mine was presented on a flat pizza pan. His was presented on a metal stand, much like a trophy worthy of the winner of the Triple Crown, gleaming in the dimly lit restaurant, light reflecting off the greasy cheese.

As I was finishing the last few bites of my pizza, I looked up to realize he had only eaten half of it before he was full. This is abnormal for him. I started to not feel well, throat sore and beginning to ache all over my body. Suddenly I didn’t feel up to playing a round of bowling. I looked up badly wanting to join the baby-boomers listening to oldies and celebrating strikes in the alleys. We somehow managed to make it to the gaming area. There I knew I could sit and rest while he had fun playing some of the more physically intense games. We had fun but my body was tired. I was tired. It was time to go home.

His pizza was in the fridge for a couple of days. I was at home sick. It just sat there, tempting me to eat it, but I knew better. The gluten would send my already dizzy head from the cold into a further downward spiral. Avoiding it, I had to look for other options.

Oatmeal and soup.

Because oatmeal is relatively inexpensive I sometimes use it as a treat or eat it when I’m hungry before bed because it doesn’t weigh so heavy on my stomach. Needless to say I consumed a lot of the oatmeal as it was soothing my throat and warming me up while I was running a fever and having chills.

My husband came home from his job hungry. He heated up some slices of his illustrious bread dripping with marinara and veggie goodness. I was sitting on the bed watching some unimportant show on my tablet. Suddenly I couldn’t take my eyes off the pizza. He sat down and when both of his hands were occupied trying to settle in to eat I snagged a piece of artichoke.

It was delicious.

My eyes were on the screen of the tablet again, with me keeping visuals on the location of his pizza in my peripherals. When both of his hands were occupied once more, one holding the plate, the other feeding himself, I stole a black olive slice. He then uttered the words I will never forget.

“HEY! I don’t go dipping my fingers into your oatmeal when you’re eating!”

Yes, because oatmeal is the equivalent to a piece of Italian-American artistry conceived out of convenience and genius.

Yes, because you can walk into any restaurant and they will have entire menus written on their hipster chalkboards about how their oatmeal has components that were free range and raised in a good home.

Yes, because there are hordes of restaurants dedicated to the many various ways you can prepare oatmeal inventively and consistently make new and traditional dishes from it.

Yes, because oatmeal is America’s sweetheart.

NOT pizza.

What is something you and your significant other have had a disagreement or funny moment over?

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The quirky girl and the lake

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We set out to tame the lake. It was July 4th and we donned our best gear for capturing large fish who could swallow a hook whole. We jetisoned out of the marina in hopes to find something no other fisherperson had found that day. As we sat in the boat, we ripped through the air as if we were reslient to it’s forces. It rushed our faces and made my hat look like a rugged outbacker’s hat rather than that of a dutch countess.

As we gazed upon the water it became like mercury. Spilling over itself, tempting us to jump into it’s depths, we continued to part the waters in search of the perfect place to tame the large body of water.

We found a cove. It was perfect for finding the treasure we sought. Giddy with delight my mother-in-law quickly set my hook with a worm and I cast it to it’s watery grave below. The waves and ripples of the water plinked and plonked against the pontoons sounding like a muffled steel drum band.

The fishing rod bobbed once, then twice and suddenly I found myself playing tug of war with a creature at the other end of the line. It had been a long while since I had been fishing. The last time I fished it was with my parents on family property.

This time was different. I was bigger, and so was the fish. The rod kept bending . It was at this time I realized I had been using a child sized fishing pole, my niece’s nickname had been scribed across the thin part of the pole. It was obviously too late to change fishing rods at this point, it’s not as if fish take a break and say, “Okay, I’ll make it easy on you” and switch hooks in the water.

I pulled and tugged with all my might. “Step on the gas!” I shouted to my father-in-law steering the boat. My husband, sister-in-law and brother-in-law had their hooks cast off the side, there was no way they could come to my aid. Pretty soon the engine started smoking as my line became increasingly tethered to something that now felt like the Lochness Monster.

My mother-in-law grabbed my waist and pulled as I pulled the fishing rod. Pretty soon my husband dropped his fishing pole too and wrapped his arms around my mother-in-laws waist. Pretty soon the entire family joined in and resembled the children’s story of the entire village that had to literally and metaphorically ban together to pull a giant radish from a neighbor’s farm.

Smoke came billowing out of the engine and blocked our vision. My father-in-law ran to drop the anchor and kill the engine. He started tugging and pulling with us. Eventually my footing gave way, I slipped, my mother-in-law slipped, my husband, sister-in-law, brother-in-law and father-in-law, all slipped and skidded as we held on tight trying to land the fish.

Eventually the line eased up. We were finally able to get our sea legs and peer over the edge of the boat to see what was giving us so much trouble. My hook had caught the bottom of the lake. It was either that or the worm had it’s revenge and clamped down on the lake floor fooling us all into thinking we were about to achieve something amazing.

Disclaimer: Some of this story maybe a bit of farce. I’ll let you decide which parts.

How did you spend your holiday weekend?

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