Nitwit Picnic

We've all been picky eaters at some point in our lives. My sister doesn't eat anything that is white. My fiance doesn't eat seafood (or vegetables unless I disguise them). I don't eat Chinese or Thai food. We all have our quirks, but if we were seated in an average, American restaurant we could piece together a complete meal, perhaps with some minor modifications (hold the mayo, etc).

Officer/Gentleman took picky eating to an extreme. He could not put together a complete meal at one restaurant, in part due to a sensitive stomach (everything made him sick but that is its own separate, disgusting post), but primarily due to obsessive eating habits. Dining with him was akin to a scavenger hunt: we needed a fruit, a vegetable, a source of protein and some creatine.

It would start on a Saturday morning after he got out of bed (around 11 AM). He would decide instead of patronizing the nearby Waffle House (it made him sick), or the coffee shop (it wasn't healthy), we would drive 20 minutes to the nearest Smoothie King for a delightful morning smoothie (with added supplements).

Now, I have been known to enjoy the occasional smoothie but I need two things for my first meal of the day: coffee and substantial solid food. Otherwise, I am weak, caffeine-deprived and cranky. This becomes even more important after a night of late-night drinking (O/G's favorite activity), because you can add "hungover" to the list of less-than-pleasant traits I possessed. You'd think after dating me for four years, he would have figured this out, but that would mean paying attention to someone besides himself.

So after we got a smoothie, we would head next door to Panera Bread for a cup of chicken noodle soup. But that's all we could get because everything else made him sick. If I dared to order anything else, he would tell me how unhealthy it was (because drinking an 800-calorie meal-replacement smoothie with god knows what kind of muscle-building powder in it as your first course is downright nutritious). I could, however, order a cup of coffee, provided I wanted to listen to him complain about how expensive it was.

Then, it was time for protein, and his favorite form of protein was a chicken sandwich from Zaxby's (on the other side of town). So away we'd go to Zaxby's for round three, where we would eat chicken sandwiches (but no fries because they made him sick).

It was like a cross between a progressive dinner party and the Bataan Death March.

From time to time, we go out to dinner at a restaurant (just one restaurant). He would usually concede, and even let me pick the place, but then once there, he would do weird things like order potato skins with a side of smashed cauliflower. This would confuse the waitress to no end as she pondered which of those selections was to be served alongside my entree.

For someone with stomach issues, he sure did eat weird things. Perhaps because by "stomach", he meant "control".