Hungry Angry Husband.
My husband likes to eat. ALOT.
And when he doesn’t get to eat, he gets very angry. His face should seriously be in the dictionary right next to ‘hangry,’ if it ever makes it into the dictionary.
Not only does he like to eat, but he likes to eat lots of meat. Chicken, steak, pork – you name it. Dare I ever make a dish without meat!
I think he believes that if he doesn’t get 76234 grams of protein in per day, he may lose all 170 solid pounds of muscle that he currently owns. He is a hottie.
Ususally, hungry-angry-husband hits at very inconvienent times. Like on an hour drive to my grandparents house. Or during church, where, let’s face it, he really doesn’t want to be in the first place. Or at the grocery store, while shopping for clothes, or during a 2 hour meeting. At least his co-workers can deal with him there.
The best was when we went to register for wedding gifts. Oh, my. We went to one of the ‘nicer’ malls about an hour away. We I figured that we’d have more of a selection and I didn’t really want to register for things I had never seen before.
So picture this – one hour drive there, in which a protein bar (or 3) has been consumed. We begin registering for china or crystal or something he knows we will never use, and he is as antsy as can be. Shocked? I know.
He begs, ‘Can we please go eat??’
We had registered for literally 7 minutes. I find the sales associate and give her back the gun to use on my husband scan the items. We find a restaurant, which ends up having a fairly long wait, and he devours his food.
I spend the 4 minutes it took him to scarf down his meal staring at my plain, gross salad, because somewhere in the back of my foolish mind I thought it would be a great idea to do a fitness competition while wedding planning. Brilliant.
I also decide at this time that I would call my grandmother – no, not Mother Lovett – I needed someone who could actually SEE and HEAR – but my other grandmother, who lived only 5 minutes away. I knew this would just be something she would LOVE. And she did. And for the rest of my life I will always remember how much fun we had registering for my gifts – her and I.
Because about 5 minutes after we met her, hungry, angry, husband decides he needs a bottle of water. I’m not sure where he got it, but I think he drove to a fresh spring and bottled it himself because it took him that long.
He came back and excitedly handled the shatter-free glasses I registered for and scanned some inappropriate items as well. But 5 minutes later, hungry-angry-husband reared it’s ugly beautiful head again and he was off to get some ice cream.
He doesn’t even like sweets, so this is where I became suspicious. As often as I deal with him being hungry and angry, I think he was just trying to pull the wool over my eyes so he didn’t have to register. Why wouldn’t he want to register for such nice gifts in our wonderful home?
Lesson learned – make sure my future daughter registers for her wedding gifts with ME, not her own hungry, angry husband.
Below has been my go-to meal the past few weeks for my hungry, angry husband. It was born one afternoon when he was picking some things up at the store and sending me text messages about how hungry he was.
I knew it was about to start. I knew if he made it home before food was on the table, the kitchen would be a danger zone, appearing as though a tornado had ripped through. And in the tornado would not only be food, but miscellaneous items thrown, kicked, and broken in the passion of hunger.
So here is the hungry, angry husband sandwhich. Only takes about 10 minutes.
The Hungry, Angry Husband Go-To Meal
2 thin-sliced boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/2 oz pepper jack cheese
a dollop of low-fat ranch dressing
Season the chicken breasts with seasoned salt and either grill or pan-fry in non-stick spray. Make sure the chicken breasts are thinly sliced so they only take a few minutes to cook. About 5-6 I’d say. Toast the whole wheat bun.
Layer onions and cheese between 2 chicken breasts and place on whole wheat bun. Top with bbq sauce and ranch.
Feed to you own hungry, angry husband.
And don’t attempt to get a picture. There is no time for such a ridiculous thing.