It’s just food

It is my job, as a future rancher’s wife, to take care of my cowboy. When the novelty of washing jeans crusted with two weeks of cow shit and God only know what else wears off and I am no longer amused by wrenches living on my coffee table for months at a time, there is a task that does not get old, and honestly is the best way to keep track of the health and happiness of my sweet cowboy, I cook for him. As any good rancher’s wife will tell you, feeding your cowboy should be a top priority, for when a cowboy gets hungry, he gets cranky. And that is bad. The one disadvantage to cooking for a cowboy is that for the last 18 months, I have been eating like a cowboy. Cowboy food in close to cowboy-sized portions. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if I worked like a cowboy but I do not, and so while my cowboy actually lost weight since of co-habitation, I have gained. A lot.
The beauty of co-habitating with anyone is that your significant other while expose you to many, many things, and likely you will transfer some things to them too. Cowboy exposed me to white bread and Laury’s Seasoning salt. I, in return, introduced him to whole wheat bread, avocados, skim milk, balsalmic vinegarette, and whole wheat pasta. Our first big fight, during which I cried and there was silence in our house for no less than two days, occured the first time we went grocery shopping together. I wanted to re-vamp our eating style in our new home, since we both have cardiovascalar disease in our families, and, frankly, I was tired of frozen pizza. And I swore I wouldn’t eat Top Ramen or boxed mac n’ cheese again after I graduated college, no matter how poor I was. As we strolled down the spacious aisles of the grocery store, hand in hand and madly in love, our cowboy boots shuffling quietly and leaving a dust trail of manure and mud, we were blissfully unaware of the fire storm ahead of us. It started out slowly. Picking out fruits and veggies, Cowboy said very little as I loaded our cart with a broad variety of colorful albiet expensive fruits and veggies. He said nothing about the asparagus, broccoli, and green beans. His eyebrows did shoot up as I picked out not one, but three types of lettuce. And spinach. No, the real trouble began in the dairy aisle. I picked out a half-gallon of skim milk. As I put it in the cart Cowboy also put in a gallon of whole milk. “Babe,” I said sweetly “You know that has alot of fat in it right?” Yes, he knew but he thought skim milk was pretty much just water and he refused to drink it. Just for the record, Cowboy will NOT drink milk. Ever. He only uses it in cereal and in box macaroni and cheese. Ok. A half gallon of 1% milk for both of us. The milk was followed by yogurt, the lowfat kind, and cottage cheese, also low fat. And lastly, fat-free sour cream. The teasing was minimal over my Tirimisu CoffeeMate and things were still pretty good until we hit the cheese section. To most young American males, processed American cheese is cheese, to me its a lab experiment. As I picked out a block of reduced-fat medium cheddar, deli style swiss cheese, sliced thin, and bags of shredded cheese. As well as a wedge of parmescean, you know the kind that requires a grater. I could see the viens in his neck starting to bulge as I launched into the milkfats and cholesterol and the importance of eating right. He must have been feeling rebelious as he plucked a huge vat of margerine from the butter area. I HATE margarine. Really, really dislike the stuff. As he dropped it into the cart, Cowboy smugly said “I want this kind.” Just for the record, Cowboy knew my feelings about margarine. I would not/will not eat foods made with margerine. I can detect margarine in food, no matter the cover-up, even if it were chocolate. I laughed at Cowboy and said, “Hell to the No” as I dropped two pounds of amish butter into our carts and reached for the vat of butter substitute. What followed was a loud and vigorous verbal squabble about which butter we would get. The result was me angrily pushing the cart towards the cereal aisle. I tried to relax as I pulled boxes of Kashi and Shedded Mini Wheats into the cart. The effort was wasted as my dear sweet cowboy replaced my cereal with boxes of sugary kids cereal. “Are you serious!?” I shrieked. “Are you serious?!” he countered. And there we were, a stand off in the cereal aisle. “Fine. Here is the cart. Get your own groceries.” I said, turning on my heel. We were done. Silence as we stood in line to checkout and loaded the pickup. Silence all the forty minutes home to the ranch. Silence for two days as my whole milk and margarine loving cowboy cooked for himself.
Fast forward to today. I now do the shopping alone, and there are Fruit Loops in our cupboard.

2 thoughts on “It’s just food

  1. I love your website! I stumbled upon it today and have just about read all of your blog posts. So far this one is my favorite. I’m gonna marry a cowboy someday 😉
    You seem like an awesome rancher’s wife!

    1. Ah, thank you Elena! It’s a great source of happiness for me, and to have others enjoy it is a wonderful bonus. I’m looking forward to hearing from you again. – MC

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