I am not in the habit of closely monitoring my wife’s food intake. As far as I’m concerned, what she chooses to put in her mouth is her own affair. If she burps discreetly and says, “I’m really stuffed, I ate too much”, I have no reason to disbelieve her. Similarly, when she shuffles forlornly about the flat with downcast eyes, occasionally muttering, “I’m soooo hungry…” I can only assume that dinner was less than satisfying (and that her ‘healthy eating programme’ continues unabated).
When I suggested that she do something to take her mind off that empty feeling (after all, she has numerous interests), she responded mournfully, “But eating is my real hobby! All those other things are just window dressing. Mmmmm dressing…”. At this juncture, I noticed that there were gnaw marks on the furniture and she had a worrying gleam in her eye, so I decided to make a graceful exit and hid in the study.
Fortunately I am a light sleeper, so I should be able to thwart any attempts to slice bits off me for a tasty midnight snack.