But last night, we went to my in-laws' for lunch/dinner. I say "lunch-slash-dinner," because it was at four. So either it was a late lunch, or a Seinfeld's early-bird dinner. Either way, it was delicious.
My father-in-law made his barbecued pork ribs, which he knows is a sure-fire way to get me to his house to eat, pronto. Not to be outdone, my mother-in-law made her unbelievable mashed potatoes (she has a gift), pasta salad (oh, heavenly days! pasta salad!) and THREE CHEESE! biscuits. THREE CHEESES, I'M SAYING! It was a feast.
I stuffed myself silly.
Humiliated myself, really. But only because I set a personal record. I only ate one (ONE!) rib. But these were MAMMOTH ribs. Think the rack of ribs the waitress puts on Fred Flintstone's car just before it tips over. No joke, this thing was eight to ten inches long, and a good three to four inches thick. I don't know where FIL finds them. But I love him for them! Oh Lord, I gotta get on with this story, because even now I can taste them.
So I was watching the platter of ribs fairly closely. See, we always take the leftovers home with us. My in-laws just don't eat leftovers, and I LOVE ME SOME RIBS, so that's just the way things work out there. And even though the two eatenist men alive happened to also be there (truth be told, I wasn't expecting there to be any leftovers) the platter was half-full once everyone rolled themselves away from the table. Luck was smiling on me, my friends. Yes, she was.
The evening wore on, and I found it within myself to help my MIL out by eating the rest of my sister-in-law's Christmas cookies (dear God, Kelsey, next time give us all BIG BUCKETS of cookies! I ate all of ours on Christmas Eve; even stole one off Santa's plate. I figure by the time he got to us, he wasn't really tasting them anymore, anyway.). We realized it was getting late, and we had to go to the grocery store before heading home, so we quickly loaded everyone up and said our goodbyes.
As I was putting the groceries away a few hours later, I realized I had made a grave error: I FORGOT TO BRING HOME THE LEFTOVERS!!!
Hubs and I got the kids bathed, brushed and in bed, and then it was my turn. I filled the tub with sweet-smelling bubbles and steamy hot water, and sank in with a good book.
After I read the same paragraph four times, without knowing what I read, it hit me: I MUST HAVE MORE RIBS!!! AND PASTA SALAD!!! THE BABY NEEDS RIBS AND PASTA SALAD!!! THE BABY, PEOPLE!!! And, if it's not too much to ask, A FEW MORE THREE CHEESE BISCUITS!
Hubs was working on an online test, so I didn't bother him about it. Once I got out and dried off, and he had finished his test, I asked him:
"How much do you love me?"
He smirks, but says, "Very much. Why?" (He knows me.)
"Because I forgot to bring home the ribs and some pasta salad from your parents' house and now I'm craving it really bad and it's all I can think about and if you really, truly love me, you'll drive out there and get some for your pregnant wife to satisfy her cravings that are only coming as a result of carrying your third-born child."
He drags his hand down his face, looks at the clock, and says, with that snotty smirk still in place, "It's 11:30. They're old. (I PROMISE I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP! HE SAID IT!) They're asleep. I can't drive out there and wake up old people. I would do it for you, but I just can't do that to old people."
So. There you have it.
He doesn't love me anymore.