It’s only because of my extremely sensitive conscience and sense of honesty that I am going to tell you this.  I have been unfaithful.  I could have gotten away with it.  I mean my wife doesn’t have pictures or video or anything.  She can’t prove a thing.  But I could never live with myself, so I came out and admitted it.  So she knows now.  I feel like shit, yet having an open discussion with her I think has cleared the air, and it certainly provided me with a profound sense of relief.  I just hope our marriage is still salvageable.

Things started unravelling the day she found those two spots on some clothing.   Paradoxically the spots weren’t anywhere to be found on my clothing.  No sir.  They were on her clothing.  That sounds kind of weird to you I suppose, since I’m the one who traveled down the path of infidelity.  Normally if you find two spots on your spouses clothing, that’s the person that should be seated under the hot, concentrated beam of interrogation.  The thing of it is the spots were actually more than spots.  They  were raised spots.  I think you would have to call them lumps.  That seems more accurate.  I’ll go with lumps.  And they were brown lumps, and they were stuck on the outside of my wife pants, pretty much right where her ass resides.  I know what you are thinking.  You think there’s a good chance my wife had some sort of “accident.”  But no, like I said, the two brown lumps were on the outside of her pants.

So my wife confronted me.  She wanted to know what the fuck those two brown lumps were doing on the outside of her pants.  At first I thought she had some medical question about them, since I am a retired pharmacist and she thinks I have all the answers to problems involving issues of personal health.  She insisted that I feel them, and although I was a little apprehensive, I did as instructed and to my amazement the brown lumps were immovable. Stuck to her pants like two small mounds of amber contact cement.  I was at that moment perplexed, and thought maybe she had been nosing around in my shop again and somehow backed into some construction adhesive or something.  But she said the brown lumps smelled like caramel.  So I stirred up enough courage to scrape a sample of one of the brown lumps with my fingernail, and took a whiff, and sure enough it smelled like caramel to me too.

I told her that was really curious.  What the heck could those two brown lumps on the outside of her pants be, we both wondered?   But I knew what they were.  At that very moment I knew but did not, at that very moment, have the balls to admit it.

My Wife and I in Happier Times

I often pick up a package of candy, like Mike and Ikes, or cherry Nibs, and then surprise my wife with it during one of our special nights watching a movie on our big screen TV.  It’s a routine I’ve followed for quite some time now.  My wife is especially fond of cherry licorice, but appreciates my clever ability to keep our marriage interesting and spontaneous by randomly selecting different items for our special movie night treat.   I scramble off and retrieve it from where I have been hiding it and pop it open right after all the annoying FBI piracy warnings.  Like I’m going to actually want a copy of this shitty movie.  Come on!  You think I want to sit through this garbage twice!  The only reason I rented it was because I wanted an excuse to eat some candy.

So we planned another of those special movie nights and in a Pavlovian response I picked up a box of candy to enjoy during the film, ever hopeful that the candy would not be the only thing offering enjoyment for the evening.   Milk Duds.  That was my selection.  But then that night my wife decided she had some stuff to do and couldn’t watch the movie.  I saved the movie for another day, but not the Milk Duds.  I succumbed to temptation and ate half the box-  HALF the box.  While I was eating them I laid the open box down on my wife’s side of our very comfortable reclining loveseat that we sit on  whenever we watch our big screen TV,  and I guess a couple of the Milk Duds must have escaped unnoticed.  So now you probably figured out what the two brown lumps were that later became stuck to the outside of my wife’s pants. Mystery solved.

But as mentioned, at the time I was reluctant to admit my weakness.  Don’t be so smug you piece of fly-infested horse dung.  You know damn well you would pull a big stall yourself.  Guys just don’t like to reveal their deficiencies.  But my wife kept pounding at me.  She was certain I had something to do with the two brown lumps on the outside of her pants and she was unrelenting in her determination to break me.  As I suspected, when I finally did admit my selfish betrayal,  the ridiculing I received was even worse.   After two hours of putting up with her jabs at my heartless soul, I retrieved the remaining half box of Milk Duds and made it clear I had saved the half box just for her and therefore should not be considered to be a total asshole.  I think what transpired in the way of reconciliation on her part was half of one.

But the topper is she won’t admit it but I probably was doing her a favor.  That half box of Milk Duds is still sitting on our kitchen counter untouched.  You know why?  Because as we all know a Milk Dud has the capability to all on its own yank a healthy molar right out of its socket, not to mention how quickly it can remove a partially missing dental filling, which my wife, as of this very point in time, has an appointment with her dentist to repair.  And dare I ask about all the boxes of candy Dots she availed herself to on her solo, four hour road trips to see family in northern Iowa?  Do you think I tasted so much as one of those tasty fruit flavored treats?  Think again bucko!  Who’s the cheater now?  In light of that shocking information  I think you would agree that I could  easily retaliate with some barbed, accusatory remarks of my own.

But no, as usual I will take the high road and leave it alone.  That’s mostly because  I have an even darker secret I just as well admit.  You’ll find out sooner or later anyway.  The box of Milk Duds I bought for our movie night.  I actually bought two boxes.  I saved one box and I ate the entire contents myself.  Now I am sick of Milk Duds.  A similar thing happened to me with Bit-O-Honeys.  I know I am weak, but at least I’m honest and forthright.  I just hope I don’t have to be honest and forthright about Charleston Chews.  I love those things.  I can’t imagine the havoc overindulgence of those delectable delights inflict on relationships.

Well I’m off to Quick Trip to purchase a make-up package of cherry Twizzlers.  Do you know if that place does any gift-wrapping?