Adonis Would Have Hated Egg White Omelets Too

As bikini season nears this year, my husband and I plan to continue our annual traditions. I will busy myself exfoliating every inch of my body and my husband will embark on his usual journey through diet hell.

As soon as the snow ceased a few weeks ago, my husband stood in front of our bedroom mirror, sucked in his stomach, struck a bodybuilder pose, and remarked, “I think when people look at me, they compare me to Adonis. God, I look svelte.” He vigorously moved the waist of his pajama pants up and down in an effort to prove how the mere thought of dieting had caused him to already lose ten pounds and one size.

I calmly finished brushing my teeth and said, “You might want to stop holding your breath before you turn blue.” Seconds later he expelled all the air in his lungs—a decision that fortunately saved his life but unfortunately caused his stomach to balloon back to its original shape. He sighed. Reality entered the room with much less enthusiasm than fantasy had a few minutes earlier.

“I know, I know,” he threw his hands up in the air. “It’s time for me to make a (dramatic pause for him to make the quote signs with his fingers) ‘lifestyle change.’”

As we headed into the kitchen to embark on our tenth annual (dramatic pause for me to make the quote signs with my fingers) “lifestyle change,” I knew I was once again in for a good time. My husband, who has never had much willpower, immediately began frantically foraging through the cupboards. “I’m hungry and I feel weak,” he announced.

“You’ve been dieting for approximately five minutes,” I said while handing him a low-fat yogurt and a handful of blueberries. He briefly glanced at the food I placed in front of him, ate everything in two bites, and then stared at me, silently willing me with his eyes to give him something made from bacon grease. “That’s all you can have for the next three hours,” I informed him. He looked at me like I had just sold his beloved puppy. To say things went downhill from there is an understatement.

The next night after I placed a tray of hot rolls on the counter and turned to stir the soup on the stove, someone darted into the room. I peeked behind me and saw my husband standing nervously behind his chair at the table. He wore guilt better than anyone I knew. I set the spoon down, walked over to his chair, and pulled it out. There sat a delicious hot roll that he had snatched from the tray and carefully squirreled away like … well … a squirrel. “I see we have an extra guest for dinner tonight,” I remarked.

“I licked that,” he said as I picked up the roll and took it back to the tray. “Seriously honey,” the kleptomaniac added, “no one should eat it but me. I think I’m getting a sore throat.” He coughed for good measure.

The next night, a piece of chicken mysteriously disappeared when I turned to mash the potatoes. I’m still searching for the bone. A few days ago, someone ate all the chips out of the bag except one. Last night, I found him searching under the couch cushions. He said he was looking for loose change for the car wash. I think we all know he was really looking for M&Ms.

Don’t feel badly for me. After ten years, I’m really getting used to the trip through diet hell. It’s too bad I’m the only one. Just wait until he finds out I’m making egg white omelets for dinner. Moahaha.

By Vicky DeCoster


About Vicky DeCoster

Award-winning humor writer Vicky DeCoster is the author of "From Diapers to Dorkville," "Husbands, Hot Flashes, and All That Hullabaloo!" and "The Wacky World of Womanhood." She has been published in over 60 magazines, books, and on several web sites. Vicky lives in Nebraska with her husband and two children where she loves to laugh every day. Visit her at
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