Archived Story

Husband spills the beans

Published 11:36am Thursday, September 15, 2011

Losing weight has always been a difficult thing for me to do. It would be easy to blame this fact on a low metabolism rate or some other biological function beyond my control. But the truth of the matter resides in my love of food and a healthy (a better word might be unhealthy) disdain for vigorous exercise.

To help combat my reluctance toward a healthier lifestyle, my wife, Karen, has recently volunteered to completely revamp my diet. Instead of consuming things like steak, hamburgers and potatoes, I find myself eating grilled fish, green beans and asparagus.

For the most part I’ve been able to handle this transition with very few issues. However, a couple of weeks ago my wife went too far. You see, she cooked up a soup concoction for dinner that contained ham, carrots, celery and a huge amount of navy beans.

I hate navy beans. In fact, I loathe them to the core of my soul. It’s not so much the taste, but the texture that gets me. I despise the way they mush in your mouth while consuming them. To me, there’s not much worse than trying to choke down a mouthful of beans.

In spite of my negative attitude, I attempted to eat this healthy mixture as quickly as possible in order to appease Karen and get on with my life. So, I crammed the disgusting brew into my mouth with a smile, emptied the bowl and quickly left the dinner table, proud the ordeal was over.

Unfortunately, it was not.

The next day I came home for lunch, looking forward to a frozen pizza or maybe a ham sandwich. When I opened the door, though, I noticed a familiar smell was permeating the house. It sent chills down my spine. My mind began to race, hopelessly grasping for some sort of explanation. Surely Karen was not re-heating that revolting potion. There was no way she would do that to me two days in a row.

It took about 5 seconds to discover that indeed she would. There it was, a huge bowl of navy bean soup waiting for me. Without complaining, I dutifully sat down at the table and ate yet another pile of wet beans as quickly as possible. My only goal was to get back to work and pray the torment would soon be over.

Wrong again.

About an hour later, I noticed my stomach was beginning to growl. Unhappy with the fact I had been eating beans for two days, I decided to take matters into my own hands and go to Burger King in the middle of the afternoon and get a real meal.

When I entered the establishment, the beautiful smell of hamburgers and fries almost overpowered my senses. After placing the order, a sense of calm serenity came over my soul. Finally, a real meal was in my immediate future.

While I sat blissfully enjoying my clandestine meal, I didn’t realize that trouble was afoot. Unfortunately, Karen had decided to pay our cell bill that day at the Verizon store, which is located directly across from Burger King. As she passed through the parking lot, she noticed a car that looked eerily similar to mine. She immediately became suspicious. So, she wrote the tag number down, planning to confront me with the evidence when I returned home later that evening.

Karen was waiting for me when I pulled into the garage. Without saying hello or greeting me with a kiss, she immediately began to make accusations about my whereabouts that afternoon while she checked my tag.

At first, I denied any wrongdoing and claimed I was having a business meeting, but this explanation didn’t work. I was simply flat cold busted at the Burger King and there was no getting out of it.

But, I really didn’t care anyway. That hamburger was worth the price of getting caught and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I just hope Karen doesn’t make a habit of staking out all the hamburger joints in town after she cooks another healthy meal for her wayward husband.

Roger Steele is general manager and advertising director of The Outlook.

  1. sunnylevel

    Wow, sounds like a real lack of honest conversation at the Steele household…

    Her behavior at the parking lot verges on possessive paranoia.

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