marital tension, marriage

Marriage And Our Rapid Decline Into Morbid Obesity

Couples who live together are more than twice as likely to become obese than those who live separately, new research shows. Penny Gordon-Larsen, associate professor of nutrition at the University of North Carolina, said … people living together – married or not – tended to eat meals together, possibly cooking bigger meals or eating out more often than they did when they were single.  – The Telegraph, June 12 


[Entry from Erin’s journal, 8/14/04] 

Getting married today! I’m so glad I found a man who cares about his physical health as well as regular exercise and sensible eating. We agreed we’ll join the Y next month. (Couples discount!) I am certain that marriage will lead to a shared, lifelong commitment to healthy living!

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 8/19/04]

We climbed Grouse Grind on day five of our honeymoon here in Vancouver. No taking it easy on the beach for us! 2.9 km basically straight up (a 853 meter elevation gain). For fun, we took the tram back down and then ran up the mountain the second time. Erin beat me by a nose, but we both clocked in under 40 minutes. I love a woman who’s in better shape than I am!

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 9/14/04]

One month down! Marriage is off to a good start, although I’m eating more than I anticipated. Need to remind myself that I don’t need to keep up with Ben. Also to keep my portion sizes down. I know I can do it!

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 10/21/04]

Weighed in at 180 this morning, up 15 lbs. from wedding day. I guess we have been eating out a lot lately. And it’s been harder to exercise than I thought. Next week I’ll definitely sign us up at the Y. 

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 12/26/04]

Our first Christmas together as a married couple. Everything was beautiful. Ben did gorge himself on the Christmas turkey, then put back an entire pie for dessert. Father cheered him on for seconds and thirds but appeared repulsed after sixths and sevenths. I was brushing my teeth tonight when he got on the scale. I sneaked a look: 209 lbs. That’s up almost 50 from the wedding. Oh well. There’s more of him to love, I guess. 

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 3/23/05]

We celebrated Erin’s birthday at Golden Corral. I thought it a curious choice until I saw the all-you-can-eat buffet. Two please! But while I found the restraint to stop after four trips, Erin went back for nine helpings. After the seventh I said, “Honey, maybe you should slow down and let things settle” when she snapped, “Maybe you should shut your trap, lardo — it’s my birthday!” When we got home she finished both Ben & Jerry’s pints in the freezer. I had been hoping for at least one of them.

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 11/24/05]

Thanksgiving, our favorite day of the year! Despite the fact we’re both over 200 pounds now (Ben is pushing 300), we felt like we could indulge a little (or, in Ben’s case, a lot). It was poor taste for Ben to push my nephew Timmy out of the way for the last piece of pumpkin pie, but Timmy can be a brat sometimes. Mother said she was disturbed by the way Ben sat in the corner gnawing on that pile of turkey bones. “I thought you two were joining a gym,” she said. “What, and cut back on our ten hours of TV a day?” I shot back. On the way home we stopped at Honeybaked Ham and rooted through the garbage out back. Mmmmmmmm!

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 1/1/06]

New Year’s Resolutions: 

  1. Finally join the Y.
  2. Get back under 430 pounds.
  3. Fit into those stretch-waist pants again. 
  4. Stop using those motorized carts to get around the mall. (Erin says it’s time to suck it up and just walk.)
  5. Submit online application for The Biggest Loser.

Here’s to a healthier 2006!

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 1/10/2006]

We adopted a cat! His name is Scooter Thomas and he makes us feel better because he’s a little rotund. Plus the vet said his percentage of body fat was 82%. No way we’ll ever get that obese!

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 9/9/06]

Worst birthday ever. Erin (all sanctimonious because she hasn’t gained triple figures since January) suggested we just get the salad bar at Ruby Tuesday’s. “That’s a terrible appetizer, but okay,” I told her. That’s the whole meal, she said. “Ha ha,” I said. Fight ensued. Later we sat at separate tables at DQ and drowned our sorrows with ice cream cakes. I had seven.

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 10/17/06]

Sometimes I look at Scooter Thomas and think he’s judging me. So what if I’m tipping the scales at 340? Still, maybe we shouldn’t have laughed so hard when his substantial girth prevented him from jumping on the bed. Confession: Some nights I can’t fall asleep because I’m afraid he’ll eat me.

[Entry from Scooter Thomas’s journal, 10/18/06]

Boy do I have some fat owners. Their corpulence disgusts even me.

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 11/16/06]

Woe is me. Mr. Scale says I’m 507 pounds. Stupid Know-It-All Scale. I thought I could hold off the 500 mark until at least December, but I guess going to White Castle every day for the past three months hasn’t helped. And darn Taco Bell and their “Fourth Meal”! I started setting my alarm at 2:40 a.m. so I can get a half dozen chimichangas before the drive-thru closes at 3. I wish they wouldn’t skimp on the salt though. 

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 3/23/07]

I put my foot down and told Ben we had to join the Y. He said it’d be a birthday gift, so we went today but he couldn’t fit through the sliding doors. I inquired about local gyms with wider entrances. Little teenage punk working the desk gave me this holier-than-thou, I’m-not-410-pounds look before responding, “I think all entrances are the same size, m’am.” Outside, Ben had fallen down and couldn’t get up. I rolled him to the car and strapped him on top.

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 7/6/07]

Terrible check-up. The doc said my body fat percentage is 103%! I told him I didn’t think that was possible. “Neither did I,” he said, shaking his head. He kept looking at the tests and furrowing his brow, then he looked at the CT scans and started dry-heaving. (I hate it when he does that.) I dread the thought of seeing Scooter Thomas tonight. He knows. He always knows.

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 12/25/07]

Terrible Christmas. Family tensions are through the roof. Ben broke his chair when he sat down, which didn’t help. Worst moment: When Aunt Betty’s bowl of cranberry sauce disappeared and turned up twenty minutes later in the folds of Ben’s stomach. (Father was not pleased.) Later, while watching Family Man, somebody said, “Where’s Aunt Betty?” “Someone check Ben’s stomach flab,” Uncle Mort said. (I hate Uncle Mort.) A thorough search revealed Aunt Betty was not there, although we did find what looked like some half-eaten Cadbury eggs from Easter. Later Aunt Betty turned up in the couch cushions. (Ben accidentally sat on her.)

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 5/1/08]

I can honestly say I didn’t expect marriage to be this hard. Or that 1000 pounds would make it so difficult to fit into the car. We bought a forklift to get me around town. I hate it that my cat judges me.

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 9/2/08]

Oprah called. She wanted us to be guests on her show. “What’s it about?” I asked. “Couples who collectively weigh a ton,” she said. “Will there be hard questions and tears and forgiveness and reconciliation and more tears?” I asked. “You betcha,” she said. “Let me call you right back,” I said. I ran outside and couldn’t find Ben, but when I came back in he was rooting through the fridge. “You’ll never believe it!” I said. “We’re going to be on Oprah!” “Great!” he said. “I just have to call her back right away,” I said. “Oh,” Ben replied, suddenly looking downcast. “What is it?” I asked. “I ate the phone,” he said. 

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 10/3/08]

Mr. High And Mighty Scale said I’m 1,593 pounds. I hate him. HATE him. I took him outside and ran over him with the tractor Erin uses to pull me around town. The last laugh is mine, jerkface!

[Entry from Erin’s journal, 1/1/09]

New Year’s Resolutions:

  1. Join the Y with or without fat ass husband.
  2. Get back under 600 pounds.
  3. Wipe that look of smug superiority off Scooter Thomas’s fat face.
  4. Buy a bigger tractor and holding pen to transport Ben around town.
  5. Apologize to Scooter Thomas. He looks too tasty to be mad at.

[Entry from Scooter Thomas’s journal, 4/12/09]

My owners are going to eat me. Absolutely, positively no doubt in my mind. I fear for my life. 

[Entry from Ben’s journal, 6/17/09]

Scooter Thomas ran away sometime last week. It’s a shame. I found a great grilled cat recipe. Guess I’ll have to eat the Cincinnati Zoo instead.


6 thoughts on “Marriage And Our Rapid Decline Into Morbid Obesity

  1. There’s nothing wrong with taking the motorized scooters around the mall. Did you know they beep when they back up? I have personal experience…

  2. loved this entry. especially visual image of erin saying,” move over, lard ass…” or something to the effect.

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