I needed to cut weight for a BJJ tournament, so I tried to relinquish my usual self-reward system of chocolate and craft beer. I did this pretty successfully and I made my fighting weight of 12 stone and 12 pounds with a bit to spare.
On getting back from the event, the Missus was chuffed it had gone OK and she took me to the pub for a couple of pints. The celebratory treat also ran to a couple of packets of over-priced cashew nuts. She was even quite effusive about my performance.
'It sounds like you had a good day. You gave 14 years to two opponents and won one fight and lost the other by the narrowest of margins,' she says, politely ignoring the comprehensive loss of my third fight.
I then show the Missus my podium picture. She smiles and says she is quite proud of me. This must be what proper men who do heroic deeds feel like all the time. I head to the toilet. I return from the loo. The pub table has nuts all over it. The pride-in-husband look has gone from my wife's face.
She waits for me to sit down before it begins.
'You've opened the nuts the wrong way. Who opens nuts along the side instead of the top? You fucking idiot!'
Back to normal then...
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