He came storming into the kitchen this afternoon – you know who it was; it could only be Wayne, also known as the Lurker – on a vicious tear after feeling ruthlessly taunted by the food-related status updates of my friends on Facebook.

“They have chips and chili. They’re drinking beer.” Grumpy silence. “Nachos,” he added sadly. “Probably wings.”

It was Wayne at his lowest.

“I’m eating a pear, and my next snack is going to be what? Blood orange. And I’m watching the only hockey game I’ve ever watched in my life.”

That was the problem. We aren’t sporty, Wayne and me. I have often bragged that I married one of the only men in town who would never willingly watch a sporting event on television. Oh the fine bohemian times we’ve had when other suckers were glued to the endless loop of pucks and points and goals and penalties.

But the Olympics hooked us, and the big game drew us in today. Other people’s snacks, however, were just too much proof that we were game-day amateurs.

Wayne even confessed that, moments before faceoff, he considered heating up Indian curry paste and putting it on bread. The vengeful sports gods were  laughing at us; they’d been waiting for this day.

So I did what a good wife does. I dug past tupperwares and a bag of oats to the hidden back corner of the fridge and produced a surprise beer for the love of my life. It seemed to take the edge off. And then I suggested, “Popcorn.”

Wayne made a bowl of his signature corn, air-popped and drizzled with butter, salt and garlic, heated up on the stove in a little saucepan. Today he used garlic powder, but he usually crushes a few cloves of fresh garlic into the butter. Sometimes he adds cayenne for kick, or thyme if he’s in the mood.

We ate it quickly by the mittful while the baby sucked on my camera; it was the only way to distract him from the popcorn he couldn’t have and for us to take in the game with as little effort as possible.

That baby! He chewed on my little camera so voraciously, the display won’t work now. Takes after his folks. And surely a gold-medal appetite is something to celebrate.