I had already eaten probably four or five bites before he noticed what I was doing. I acted innocent, but my husband looked at me disappointedly. It was the first time in our nine years of marriage, I think, that he had looked at me that way.

"That's your second one tonight," he said referring to my enormous ice cream cookie sandwich. I guess I didn't think he was paying attention. Or, maybe I wanted him to notice.

It wasn't even what I had wanted. When I went to the store, I was after something chocolate (naturally); preferably chocolate cake with chocolate icing. But I had made a new rule for myself: if I was going to buy something bad, it had to be gone that day. So buying a chocolate cake was out. Even though one of the bakeries in town carries a smallish, individualized chocolate cake that hits the spot, I didn't go that route for some reason.

"That's your second one tonight," I retorted, referring to his spiced rum and soda.

There was an awkward silence and that look again. Maybe even the possibility of a tear.

"You shouldn't be eating that," he said the way a father scolds his adult child-a bit of concern mixed with guilt.

"I know." I took another bite and the ice cream stung my teeth. I rubbed my tongue along the tops and sides of my sensitive teeth trying to get the pins and needles to go away. That's what I get, I guess, for eating ice cream when I know I shouldn't.

"Are you hungry?" he asked softly. His tone changed; he had somehow turned sympathetic knowing that I was battling constant hunger and an overwhelming desire to eat nonstop.

I nodded, fought back the tears and finished my ice cream sandwich.