Men, listen. I understand you don’t love sharing your fries with your wives and significant others. Nobody wants to share their fries.
I get it. You’re like, “It’s not my fault you ordered a salad with a squeeze of lemon on the side. I had the courage to order a burger and fries after making a lifelong commitment to the keto diet three days ago. You know how much courage it took me to order the highest carb and calorie meal on the menu? You lacked the courage with your sad lemon salad. Not my problem.”
I hear you.
But now you need to hear me.
First: For a woman, calories don’t count when they’re on someone else’s plate. Never have, never will. And you are depriving us of an incredible opportunity to eat our favorite foods without having to log it on My Fitness Pal.
Second: It’s been scientifically proven that, for a woman, food we did not make or prepare tastes 1,000 percent better to our taste buds.
So, you know that plate of Wheat Thins and off-brand cheddar cheese you fixed for yourself while we catch up on "Westworld?" Literally the best thing we’ve ever eaten.
Or it could be if you would share without that passive aggressive sigh of yours.
Three: Your children came out of our vaginas. Are you seriously going to deny us your last onion ring? What’s wrong with you? Did you see your baby come out of our body? An onion ring is a bare minimum sacrifice.
And for those of you who think we need to stop playing the “Your baby blew out of my body and I’ll never be the same card” — have you seen a baby delivered? My husband said it looks like a horse’s eye — blinking. And then it gets D-rated horror film shortly after.
Frankly, you should just put your plate in the middle of the table and let us graze as we see fit. Why is this even an issue?
Four: Order double.
If you’re going through the drive-thru and ask us if we want anything, the answer is a firm no. Like we want to eat that high calorie, processed food poison!
Unless, of course, you order your meal and you hand us the bag in the passenger seat. In which case, refer to point one. Food eaten out of our man’s fast food bag doesn’t have calories. Got a problem with it? Blame science. I don’t know how this crap works.
What is the solution? Order double. Don’t listen to our protests; they are simply lip service. Order double.
If you actually believe us when we say, “No, no — nothing for me, thanks. I’m not hungry” or “I only eat whole, clean, plant-based foods,” then that’s on you and you deserve to have three-quarters of your fries gone by the time you pull up to the house.
If we’re all being honest here, it really should be proclaimed in your vows.
“I promise to split my cookie with you for the rest of my life until death does us part.”
We just want a little bite. That’s all we ask. Just a little nibble. Please. It looks so good.
Just a little bite? Please?
No, seriously. Give us a bite.