By Dick Wolfsie
I’m in a lot of trouble. I just 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. I was returning home with a bagful of goodies. I usually shop while Mary Ellen is at work so I can take my stash and squirrel stuff away without her seeing what I bought. I have devised many clever places to hide questionable food choices, but none better than strapping the Meat Lovers Tombstone Pizza to the top of my SUV.
It’s a terrible thing, this deception, but the tactic is required. Normally a sweet and understanding person, my wife is often judgmental of my supermarket purchases. She also questions my choice of books (she’s not a fan of non-fiction), movies on DVD (no violence, please) and TV shows (she doesn’t like people screaming at each other on cable news); but she generally keeps those opinions to herself and allows me to shuffle into my home office and indulge in private.
Back to my attempted covert entry into the house. Mary Ellen carefully eyed each item as I unloaded everything onto the counter:
EGGS — “Did you check the expiration date? Did you see three of them were cracked? These are not free-range eggs. And they’re cheaper at Sam’s Club. 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 you.”
MILK — “A quart? It’s so much cheaper by the gallon. And how many grown men still drink chocolate milk?”
HARD SALAMI — “That reminds me, did you remember to pick up your Lipitor at the pharmacy?”
Except for the occasional piece of dark chocolate, my wife doesn’t really have food cravings like I do, which is why I often return home with a shopping bag full of exotic provisions. I must admit that most of my purchases are just based on a momentary hankering for a particular taste treat. If Mary Ellen turned to me one night and said, “I have this craving for a grilled bratwurst with sauerkraut and a dill pickle,” well, I can tell you right now, I’d want to check her photo ID before we spent the night together.
Last week I had this yearning for a jumbo shrimp cocktail. By the time I got to the store, I had lost that desire, and opted instead for a quart of Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. This poor nutritional choice required finding the perfect hiding place at home to avoid my wife’s disapproving eye. I can’t use the space under the back porch. Even the dog has figured out that’s my prime wintertime location for stockpiling frozen delights.
Another drawback to this trickery is that I forget where I’ve hidden things. Doritos in the laundry cabinet, Slim Jims in an old eyeglass case, and Peppermint Patties stacked up in the back of the medicine cabinet. Who can keep track of all this?
Truth is, I get a kick out of this game of Hide and Eat. I recently stuffed a Hostess Twinkie under my pillow. Before we drifted off to sleep, Mary Ellen made me promise to quit eating junk food. I told her I’d sleep on it.
