So tomorrow’s the day I’ve been dreading. Mardi Gras, which translates to “Fat Tuesday” in English. And Fat Tuesday officially tops the list of holidays least embraced by my pregnant wife. (With October 24th’s National Bologna Day a distant second.) Even when I try to redirect her attention by telling her that Fat Tuesday is really nothing more than a day to stock up on your favorite rich and decadently fatty foods in anticipation of Lent, when many are forced to give up such treats.
But Caroline’s not buying it. Given her current addiction to all things sweet, she’d argue that tomorrow is not unlike any other of the past 140 days of her pregnancy. Except, of course, for its patronizing name.
My wife, of course, is not fat. At all. She’s 20-weeks pregnant and, to me, she looks more beautiful than ever. So why must there be a holiday that falls within her pregnancy that begins with the word fat? Not only is it unfair to pregnant women, it’s also unfair to their husbands. So I’m suggesting that we do away with the translation. Because, honestly, French really isn’t my family’s strong suit.
So we’ll just stick with Mardi Gras, only even that could be tweaked a bit.
That’s why I’ll be calling it Mardi Gah, you good, honey.
There. Much better.
On the bright side, at least she can celebrate the holiday by continuing the legendary 140-day sugar bender she’s been on. But other than that, we probably won’t do much to honor the unfortunately named holiday. Will you be doing anything to celebrate?