My first real boyfriend was Lil’ Rhody. Rhody lived in the dorm room directly under mine freshman year.
I was young and didn’t understand that you don’t sh*t where you eat.
As a result of proximity, a random hook-up in the first few weeks of college became a relationship and I was off the market the entire year.
When I first met Rhody, he was reasonably entertaining. Seemed smart, talked about Rhode Island too much, wanted to be a congressman.
By the end of the year, he had gained quite a bit of weight, talked only about Rhode Island, and wanted to be a bounty hunter.
We didn’t work out.
The summer I was in D.C. he got an internship with a congressman from …wait for it… Rhode Island, and needed a place to crash for a month. We rented him the living room floor at a premium markup.
When Rhody arrived, he proceeded to buy hundreds of dollars of protein powder which ate up his entire monthly food budget. He planned to lose a ton of weight by only having protein shakes. At first, he was loyal to his diet and went as far as to criticize my regular lunch of hot dogs smothered in cheese.
“If you keep eating like that…” he warned. I laughed in his face.
I had the constitution to eat whatever I wanted and not gain weight. He was the one with the problem.
In hindsight, swapping out a few of those lunches for salads wouldn’t have been a bad idea. I might be sitting here in regular pants instead of roomy pajama jeans.
Alas, his weight loss resolve was tested the first time he was invited to a congressional reception. Coincidentally it was catered by Oscar Mayer, and he came home raving about all of the hot dogs and sausages he got to try.
He called his parents and effused natural casings. Called his brother and babbled mustard flavors. I don’t think he appreciated it when I interrupted,
“If you keep eating like that…”