He’d be like, “We ate an hour ago. It’s time to eat again. Where are the candied nuts?”
I’d be like, “Jesus, your pants are starting to look a little tight around the hips.”
“Shh,” he’d say. “We’ll talk about it after New Year’s. I’m going to buy a gym membership on the 2nd after I’m done purging.”
I’d put my eggnog down and hoist myself up from the couch long enough to see Jesus sneaking more molasses cookies in the kitchen. “But Jesus,” I’d say, “you are going to fall into a sugar coma.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he’d say. “Give me some more of your honey baked ham.”