My husband is a self-avowed popsicle freak. Popsicles are a standing item on our grocery list – every time we go to the store, we must pick up a box. His brand of choice are the Sugar Free Popsicle Tropicals, and he consumes them nearly by the box. I have been at my wits end with his popsicling in the past. He used to eat them in bed at night while he read books. I would be trying to sleep next to him. I would hear “rip, CRINKLE, CRINKLE, crunch CRUNCH crunch,” repeat. He would open a popsicle and loudly eat it. I have never heard anyone chew so loudly. He would bring about ten of the things upstairs with him so he could consume them ad nauseum. He would eat them one after another until they were all gone.
He finally stopped eating the popsicles in bed, not because I complained, but because they made him have to get up at night and pee too much. Now he just eats them while we watch our TV shows. In an attempt to assuage my popsicle aversion (and don’t get me wrong, I don’t have anything against popsicles themselves, just their very audible consumption) he would try to be considerate by opening all the popsicles before the show started. So during the opening credits, I would hear, “rip, RIP, RIP, rip, thud.” Repeat until they are all opened. Then during the show, “CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH, crunch, crunch.” There is no mute button for this kind of violent popsicle eating. I have really been tempted to beat him to death with one. Then he leaves all the wrappers in the garbage cans all over the house to attract vermin (although I don’t really know how into sugar free popsicles vermin really would be).
Then don’t get me started on the popcorn. My husband considers popcorn to be a food group (ketchup is a food group too). He must have some at all the movies (“crunch, CRUNCH, CRUNCH, crunch”) and at numerous TV shows at our house. He makes popcorn with the elan of a conisseur. He has a special popcorn popper (I confess, I bought it for him) called a Whirly-Pop, which features a crank with a spinning wire in the lid that tosses the popcorn off the bottom of the pan so it doesn’t burn. He has the amount of oil and popcorn down to an art and he has one preferred brand – Orville Redenbacher’s original in the JAR. That’s it. Nothing else will do. Then he tosses it with a little salt, tosses it in my old metal mixing bowl, and calls it a night. Up the stairs to the TV with the popcorn. “Crunch, CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH.” It is actually quieter than the popsicles. I know, right?
At any rate, I guess there are worse things my hubby can do. If these are the worst things he can come up with, I’m a pretty lucky gal. After all, he doesn’t drink to excess, he doesn’t gamble (without winning), he doesn’t chase women (well, at least he doesn’t CATCH them) and he doesn’t do drugs or beat me, so I guess a little popsicle action is not much to complain about. All in all, he’s a pretty darn good hubby. Just look out for the CRUNCH, crunch, crunch, CRUNCH at the end of every evening!