Wolfsie
I’m in a lot of trouble.
I tried to sneak in the back door without my wife seeing me, but I got caught with you-know-what on my breath: salami.
Yes, I had been out carousing. At Kroger. Ever since COVID started, my wife prefers that we not go into stores, but instead pick up food curbside. I’m sorry, but you can’t indulge yourself in guilty delights on a computer screen, so…I put on my N95 and silently slipped out the door. Sounds mysterious, doesn’t it?
The other day I returned home with a bagful of goodies. I usually shop while Mary Ellen is walking in the woods behind our house so when I get home I can take my stash and stuff it away without her seeing what I bought. I’ve devised many clever places to hide questionable food choices. I once got caught hiding a Johnsonville sausage link in an empty lamp socket. “What is that?” she asked.
“It’s a 40 brat bulb,” I told her.
Back to my attempted covert entry into the house. Mary Ellen carefully eyed each item as I unloaded my bag onto the counter…
MUFFINS: “Are they gluten free? How much added sugar?”
EGGS: “Did you check the expiration date? Did you check to see if any of them were cracked? These are not from cage-free farms. And they’re cheaper at Costco. Are they organic? Brown eggs don’t go with the new fridge.”
FRENCH BREAD: “It’s just going to go bad. You never finish it. It gets hard as a rock overnight because you don’t seal the package. After three days, the birds won’t even eat it.”
PISTACHIO NUTS: “Why did you buy those? You know we’re just going to eat them. Almonds are better for us.”
MILK: “A quart? It’s so much cheaper by the gallon. And how many grown men still drink chocolate milk?”
CHEESE DIP: “That reminds me, did you remember to pick up your Lipitor?”
My wife doesn’t have food cravings like I do. If Mary Ellen turned to me one night and said, “I have this hankering for a pastrami sandwich and a half sour pickle,” well, I can tell you right now, I’d want to check her photo ID before we spent the rest of the night together.
Last week I was yearning for a jumbo shrimp cocktail. By the time I got to the store, I had lost that desire, and opted instead for a bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos. That poor nutritional choice required finding the perfect hiding place at home to avoid my wife’s disapproving eye. I can never use the space under the back porch. The raccoons know exactly what I’m up to.
Another drawback to this trickery is that I forget where I’ve hidden things. I’ve found a half-eaten burrito in the laundry cabinet, a Twinkie in an old eyeglasses case and Peppermint Patties in a tennis ball can.
Truth is, I get a kick out of the game of Hide and Eat. I recently stashed a chocolate chip cookie under my pillow. That night just after we turned off our bedroom TV, Mary Ellen made me promise to think about laying off bad food. I told her I’d sleep on it.
