My husband comes home from work, and starts rummaging through the cupboard like a bear storming a campsite.
He doesn’t tear into anything, but he’s definitely nosing around.
In a few minutes, we’ll be leaving for dinner at a nice restaurant — a delicious, decadent meal. A meal worthy of your full appetite.
I suggest a glass of water. Often, dehydration shows up as hunger pangs.
“Uh, okay,” he says, perusing the kid food: crackers, bunnies, Pirate’s Booty.
“You might just be thirsty,” I say.
My husband is a busy guy, always running from one meeting to the next. Who knows how much water he’s had today. I’m guessing one glass, at lunchtime.
“Water?” He appears incredulous. “Water?! I’m a grown man — I’m pretty sure I know the difference between being hungry and thirsty.”
He’s being funny now. And he might actually be hungry as well as thirsty. But he indulges me and has the water anyway. He’s a good sport about my health rants.