Since there are actually people reading this, I'll report that I *finally* got to have a talk with Easy, late last night. (Worked really really late, causing me to grumble about inconsiderate bosses who want to destroy marriages) I think we set down some solid ideas for solving this issue and no one is walking out. Things are much better today--then again, maybe we're just too exhausted to feel much of anything.
For my entertainment, and hopefully not your irritation:
Rockstar (poking my jiggly arm, which has a lot of extra skin because I've lost a fair amount of weight): Your arms are like marshmallows.
Me: Yeah, I guess they kind of are like marshmallows.
Rockstar (bites my arm and makes a face): You don't taste like marshmallow.
Me: Ow! No, I don't!
Rockstar (waits a few seconds, then bites me again): You still don't taste like marshmallow.
Since then, every child in the family has taken a turn biting my arm to see if I taste like marshmallow. I'm getting quite paranoid.