Popcorn

   “Please, don’t do it.” She cried at him, as he began to microwave the popcorn. “You know that it’s my favorite!” He simply laughed at her with a cheerful malice in his eyes as he, with each piercing beep, set the microwave to two minutes. Each sound punched a new hole into her heart, feeling very much like a betrayal from which they could never recover. For the first 30 seconds, the silence was comforting to her. Perhaps he hit cancel, maybe this was all a joke? This is the kind of thing that he would find hilarious, a cruel humor that only he can pass off as loving. Then, the loud cracks of popping kernels hit her ears, and the reality of the situation set in. Soon, the light airy smell would combine with the crisp popping sound, and she would be a goner. She needed to leave the kitchen immediately, before he melted the butter. 

   He knew that popcorn was her favorite snack, and he also knew that she was doing her absolute best to stick to this new diet plan that she had just started. You know, he doesn’t even like popcorn that much, she thought as she all but ran from the kitchen to her craft room. She was going to fight temptation with exercise. Her craft room also contains her treadmill. As she climbed onto the treadmill she picked the rolling hills setting for 90 minutes. Inflicting the world with her own set of beeps as she set the maching. Meanwhile, the heavenly smell of butter and salt combining in a bowl being expertly shaken (a technique she had taught him) wafted through the house. She was losing resolve, better set the treadmill to level five and get started before she walked off the treadmill, out of the craft room, and just floated into the living room to settle on the couch right beside him and that beautiful bowl of popcorn. 

   As the treadmill slowly began to turn, increasing speed to a comfortable walking pace, she set in. At first, she felt great, knowing that she had made the right choice. She was making positive changes in her life, and those changes begin today. Gone were her days of beginning something and falling off at the first sign of a bump in the road, she was going to lose this weight! Of course there were other times that she had been down this road, she had tried so many diet plans in the past, the most ridiculous of which was juicing. She had bought an expensive imposing blender that now lived on the counter, and had been quasi-successfully juicing her meals for a day and a half. He laughed when he found her in the kitchen trying to secretly eat a cheeseburger at 4pm. Actually, they had laughed together about it, because honestly she was never going to stick to a juicing plan. This time though, she was ready to turn over a new leaf and work off this extra ten pounds that she had steadily put on over the past two years.

After the first few minutes of positive feelings, she realized that she didn’t have the customary entertainment that she usually took to the treadmill. Typically she read a book, to take her mind off the fact that she was indeed exercising, which she thoroughly detested. She had been walking about three times a week for almost two months now, and had read several books this way. At this point she wasn’t sure if the books were motivating her to walk, or if the walking was what kept her reading. Either way, without proper distraction, she would quickly feel her feet slamming down on the deck of the treadmill with each laborious step she took. She would immediately notice when tiny beads of sweat were forming in her hair line and sliding down her forehead, forcing her to wipe them off with a hand or forearm, simply transferring the sweat not actually getting rid of it. She would hear the daunting drone of the treadmill changing its incline, and begin to dread the increased effort that was about to be demanded of her. All of these things could typically be ignored, with the proper distraction of a good book.

 Now, what is a girl to do in such a circumstance? Her favorite snack is being eaten a mere two rooms away, by someone who isn’t enjoying it nearly as much as she would be, and she doesn’t have a book to distract her while she walks. Her pony tail bouncing right to left with each heavy step, every foot fall an accomplishment that she isn’t proud of. She walks for 10 agonizing minutes, hoping that he was eating as fast as she was losing her nerve. She stops the treadmill gradually, and makes a note of her exercise session on her daily log. She then shimmies between the wall and the machine to switch it off, and slips out of her shoes intentionally, as if she’s preparing to enter a war zone. 

With the intense trepidation that usually accompanies someone doing their first auditorium stage performance, she slunk into the living room. Each step she took down the hallway, brought her closer to that smell that she loved so much, and her will power faded. She suddenly found herself hoping that there was a small handful left, maybe just a few pieces that she could grab right before her favorite snack disappeared. She crept up behind the couch and cautiously peered into the bowl. He had graciously finished it all while she was in the craft room, their relationship could continue. Obviously he had been sharing with the dog since drool was still cascading off of his taught jowls. She leaned over the back of the couch and kissed him on the cheek. He looked up at her and smiled as he said, “I set some aside for you, it’s in the kitchen.”