Cottage cheese in pink, please.

I wrote about going to the farmer's market over here. We had a bit of disastrous ATM card fiasco right before we were supposed to go to the farmer's market, and we had to head on back home to grab some cash (we live all of 30 seconds away from the farmer's market, so yeah, I know, I have no real excuse for not going more often).

On the way back home from the mall, there was a couple walking their two dogs (one was part wolf, I swear it was); the lady was pushing her child in a stroller.

I mentioned that one of the dogs looked like a wolf, and my husband agreed.

Then I looked at the lady. She was wearing pink tracksuit pants and a pink t-shirt.

"Oh no. She should NOT be wearing that," I said.

My husband snickered.

I'm not sure if her tracksuit was several years old and had gone through a bazillion washings, but it was way too see-through. It also didn't fit her. While I wouldn't say she was large, because she certainly wasn't, she wasn't thin either. And every bump and lump and wiggle and jiggle showed right through her pink tracksuit pants. She was also sporting granny panties with the pantie lines shining right through her thin tracksuit pant material.

She basically looked like a sausage wrapped in a too-small casing.

After looking and looking and looking some more, I realized how nice and thin her husband looked. And how well his clothes fit him. And how he obviously was blind and needed the wolf dog to help him traverse the streets of Newark.

Then I got mad.

"You husbands suck! Why wouldn't he tell her she looks horrible in those pants? Why??? I know you guys get so used to us wives looking gross and slobby and our hair sticking up out of barrettes and ponytails (or is that just our relationship?), but come on. I mean, I know I wear shirts that are really big on me, and that makes me look bigger than I am, but I have a really hard time find shirts that fit okay. What she's doing it just wrong, and him letting her is even more wrong."

Then I went onto a rant about how she's probably trying to lose weight because she just had a baby, but that doesn't give her husband any right to let her walk out of the house with all her cottage cheese flapping in the wind.

My husband then told me that their child looked to be about four years old and that they were probably going to the farmer's market. I could just tell her she looks horrible myself.

I was still rather annoyed by the whole thing when we made it back to the farmer's market, and low and behold, who did we see? That's right Ms. Pink Cottage Cheese and her mean husband and wolf dog. I again said that husbands suck.

My husband then went into his own rant about how she would have just yelled at him for being honest, so what was the point, and blah blah blah. I told him that no matter how loudly she yells, deep down she would have been so happy to know that her husband saved her from the embarrassment of going out into public wearing super thin pants and showing off her goods. The yelling simply covers embarrassment. And shame. Or both.

We all know that, why don't men?

Cravings

People's favorite question to ask me is, "Do you crave anything?" Usually I say no. I mean, I'm always up for a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendys and some fries -- I don't need to be pregnant for that. And I've always been a candy snacker - when the candy is around. I can't blame that on pregnancy. But yesterday I had the strongest craving for KFC's mashed potatoes and gravy (I usually don't put gravy on my mashed potatoes too, so I knew this was the real deal -- a real pregnancy craving), KFC's coleslaw (I read in the beginning of all this that I can't eat coleslaw, although I'm not sure why and I think I need to research that a bit further) and chocolate chips cookies (while I do enjoy the chocolate chip cookie, I'm much rather have its cousin, the peanut butter cookie or a macaroon).

So I told my husband about my cravings before heading home after BARTing. He just nodded his head. I kept saying how I wanted those things. He kept nodding his head. Then I realized he wasn't going to budge. Usually I can say I want something and he'll get it for me pronto. But not last night. I whined a bit more, then he said maybe on Friday. I said that by Friday, I'll want something else. He said too bad.

Where I work, there are a bazillion places to get chocolate chips cookies, including Mrs. Fields, and I'm so tempted to take a tiny break to go stuff my face full of cookies, but I know I won't. As far as the mashed potatoes and coleslaw goes, I think I can wait for that, and I probably won't want it as much as the week progresses.

Until then: