I love my partner. I could spend a day listing his many wonderful attributes, but today is not that day. Dude stole my hummus,and I am pissed.
I knew early on that I’d fallen in love with a “Hamburglar” of sorts. The man I love, can eat two double chili burgers with fries, and still be hungry. I have never finished a meal. I don’t say this to seem cute or dainty, it’s just a fact. Derek can eat his own weight in food, and never gain a pound. This used to be the case for me as well, but when I hit my mid-twenties, my metabolism began to revolt against me. I always stop at half, and let my brain catch up to my stomach (holidays aside). Stopping at half is wonderful because it *always gives me a second portion of leftovers to look forward to.
Unfortunately, Derek sees anything in the fridge as fair game. I have tried everything to curtail this nasty habit, but it all seems to be in vain. I’ve tried writing death threats in bold sharpie on my doggy bags “Touch this food and die”. I’ve tried disguising them by hiding them under the salad mix/ veggies in the crisper (surely, he’d never look there). He always finds them!
It all came to a head the other day when I woke up. The first thought that popped in to my head, was of my leftover hummus. This wasn’t just any hummus, it’s the hummus that makes all other hummus cry over their glaring inferiority. I could taste it. I wanted to taste it. The pillowy, leftover pita bread beckoned to be reheated and dredged through the silken mashed chickpeas that were dressed with olive oil and Hashwi (a mixture of ground beef/lamb, pine nuts and spices). Derek was in the shower when I opened the fridge, and searched for my missing treat. Derek should have stayed in the shower, if he knew what was good for him.
I slammed the fridge door shut, cursed, and then slammed the cabinet doors for good measure. The cabinets were innocent victims, but they provided good acoustics for the soundtrack of my mood. When I saw my poor dog cowering in the corner, I realized she thought, she was the one in trouble, and that prompted me to calm myself.
I was calm alright. I was chillingly calm as Derek emerged from the shower. He was happy and clean, but he had done a dirty deed. The evidence was stacked against him as I presented my case, and led him to the crime scene. A good criminal knows how to cover his tracks. Derek is not a smooth criminal. The fridge door opened, and his face dropped when he saw the empty tub of hummus.
*Author’s note: Derek is a sleepwalker. He often has no recollection of events that have taken place in the middle of the night. I am taking this fact in to consideration, while I price out mini-fridges and dead-bolts.