I have been in a relationship now for almost 25 years. In fact, the silver anniversary is coming up this November.
But it's time for me to confess that I have not always been faithful. I have strayed on occasion. I have gone where I should not have gone. Not only that, I enjoyed it immensely.
I eat bad things.
For 25 years, I have lived with an epidemiologist who watches what he eats. Daily. The bigger problem is that every day for 25 years, he has watched what I eat, too.
We have lots of green vegetables, little red meat, and dessert is something reserved for special occasions. Like funerals.
It got to the point where I started having little food affairs, disappearing for a lunchtime quickie of french fries served in a brown paper bag so greasy it melted away when I picked it up. I wasn't thinking. I was in love.
That's when the lies began. "Yes, the no-fat-yogurt hut!" I'd say when asked where I'd had lunch. I didn't even feel bad about it. It became part of my life. It's still going on.
One of the best things about being on the road is that you're on the road. And you don't know where that road might take you.
Last month, it took me to Colorado Springs and a place called the Omelette Parlor. How can you not go to a place called the Omelette Parlor?
I wouldn't have known about it except my friend Sharon, who lives there, suggested it when we agreed to meet for a late breakfast/early lunch.
She said she thought she remembered the kinds of places I liked. And she did.
The Omelette Parlor is a local institution, one of those one-of-a-kind eateries you stumble upon and then talk about for years to come. I understand there's a line to get in on weekends, but on a late Thursday morning, Sharon and I strolled in, were ushered to a wood bench booth and handed menus.
I ordered something called the Green Chili Skillet. It's a mound of potatoes topped with pork green chili, cheddar cheese and two eggs, any style. Salsa upon request. An English muffin was thrown in for good measure. Ate it all.
I could have died right then and there and am a bit surprised I didn't.
I didn't eat for the rest of the day. I hardly ate the next day, for that matter.
When I got home, Jack asked where Sharon and I had met up.
I decided I was tired of lying. I was going to come clean. Be true to my relationship. Tell the truth.
"It was some place called the Omelette Parlor," I said. "I had coffee and an English muffin."
E-mail cwilson@usatoday.com
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