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I’m cheating on my wife… with Taco Bell



The first year of marriage is now in the books. A year beginning with the Honeymoon Heist and ending in a global pandemic has set a new standard for a freshman year of marriage. Why not throw in infidelity? I’m well fed by a loving wife who satisfies all my belly-growling desires. Unfortunately, no amount of binge watching Beat Bobby Flay or purchasing of celebrity cookbooks has curbed my lustful appetite for Taco Bell.


I don’t know how this happened. It was such a slippery slope. It started with a quick stop for a soda without telling my wife. I felt guilty at first but it just got easier from there. It snowballed into a string of never-ending miss-truths.


I started to get questions about my punctuality after work. Why it took an additional 20 minutes to get home. Why I didn’t eat as much at dinner. She had no idea that moments before I was double fisting Soft Taco Supremes.


I went from casual soda chugger to value menu glutton in a matter of months. I started to go to great lengths to hide all the evidence. I knew that I needed all four windows rolled down for 7 minutes to appropriately air out all the beefy stank. I also knew that if our front blinds were closed I could easily dispose of all evidence in the trash can outside. If she was sitting out front on our porch drinking wine, I was surely screwed.


I still wanted her meals too. I missed them.


One morning we piled into the car to go for a drive in order to satisfy my need to get out of the house at least once a day. I threw on Heat of the Moment by Asia and began to back out of the driveway.



“Hey what’s this!?” She said like an accusatory and disgruntled Jake Tapper.


“What’s what?” I panicked.


I never meant to be so bad to yoooou.

One thing I said that I would never dooo.


“This!” She swung her arm out from underneath the front seat to reveal a crinkled soft taco wrapper. It was Houdini level reveal complete with shredded cheese puffing out the sides of the wrapper.



Dammit.


How had I gotten here? Oh yeah, I Baja Blasted off into a Catch Me If You Can scenario with a web of lies that would have stressed out the CEO of Enron.


It was the heaaaat of the moment

Heaaaat of the moment.


“Babe, I’m going to be straight with you... I saw trash next to the car at work and I wanted to do my part to clean up the community,”


“Oh yeah? Is that why I found a Reese's wrapper in the dryer?”


Heeeeat of the moment.


I came clean. I even shared why I chose Taco Bell over other places like Chick Fil A. It’s easier to dispose of and the fast food aroma dissipates quickly. Not to mention Taco Bell doesn’t make me want to nap afterwards. Also, the “my pleasure” moniker was not one I could stomach as I was misleadingly stuffing my gullet at the expense of marital faithfulness.

Thus the love affair with the greatest fast food chain has temporarily been suspended. I think my wife and gallbladder are plotting against me. At the very least, they’re in cahoots. She forgave me for having Taco Bell but my gallbladder did not. My palette may be a simpleton but my heart is pure. Purely filled with cholesterol.


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