2016 is supposed to be the year of clean eating for me. More fruit, more vegetables, less processed shit, no meat. Okay. Less meat.
But then Carl gets these empanadas. And not just any fucking empanadas. My favorite empanadas.
Self control is being tested to its limit. Carl offers me an empanada. I shake my head because I'm an asshole with an attitude and I walk away with my head in the air and say, I don't eat that shit, man.
The laughter that comes out of that man is incredibly loud and I sort of want to knock the wind out of his lungs right now.
I come back an hour later and the goddamn empanadas are still there. They're not just calling out to me, they're taking me by the hand and handcuffing me to them and I'm not trying to escape.
Three empanadas - gone in sixty seconds.
And now I'm kinda scolding myself: you dumb-dumb! Why didn't you save some for later? But then I'm kinda high-fiving myself because it was all so worth it. And I start laughing hysterically by myself in the kitchen as Carl walks in and just stares at me, thinking: how many decades of this shit am I going to go through?
Marriage is fun, people.