Dirty Little Secret

Last night, my husband’s work group was taken to dinner by the Vice President of the company. Employee families were not invited and though I feel slightly jilted, I understand that we are in a recession. After making him change his shirt and pumping him full of encouragement, none of which was necessary or solicited, I sent my husband on his way. I put our toddler to bed and was surprisingly excited when I realized that no dinner plan was expected of me that night. I combed the cupboards, trying to remember the last time I actually set foot in a grocery store. By the looks of the inventory, it seemed it had been quite a while. As I kept looking in the same cupboards over and over again, hoping something forgotten and delicious was hiding behind the dried minced onion and cream of mushroom soup, my eyes focused in on a can of Rosarita’s refried beans. My brow crinkled and I hesitated. Do I dare? I most certainly do! But, with what? Tortillas are not frequent guests in my home. They become lost under the bread or in the back of the fridge and when my excited eyes find them again; my heart is quickly disappointed by the brittle, cracking, dryness of each sad circle. This resulted in my decision to avoid the heartache and leave them at the store, where they belong. So, there I was, with some refried beans, a piqued interest, and the resolve to find something with which to pair my Mexican treat. I’ll spare you the suspense. I ate refried beans and fried eggs for dinner. It was a dirty, shameful experience. When Frankie returned from his fancy elbow-rubbing dining adventure, I asked him what he had for dinner. “It was sort of a sausage, shrimp, and fettuccini jambalaya. It was really good.” He handed me a doggy bag containing a soggy brownie covered with what appeared to be ice-cream residue. I picked at the mush for a moment, secretly resenting him. “What did you eat?” he asked. My silence was deafening and he repeated the question. My eyes shifted to the plate beside me, hoping he didn’t recognize the brownish paste smeared across its surface.

What’s the most shameful thing you’ve ever eaten (and enjoyed)?