Jameson Gregg Author
PUBLICATION: Dahlonega Nugget, The (GA)

SECTION: News, page 4A

DATE: April 16, 2014

I suspected my wife was fooling around behind my back. Recently, I found smoking-gun evidence and she confessed. Suspicion confirmed.

The trouble all started when she watched Oprah on TV one afternoon. I cringe when she watches Oprah. Some new diet or exercise regimen is always in my near future.

Sure enough, she announced we were going on the “clean gut” diet. The next day, Kroger’s produce section must have gone barren because our kitchen counters were laden with red, green, and yellow vegetables of all shapes and sizes. Full sink, cutting boards, boiling pots and whirring blenders. The place smelled like a bomb exploded in a cabbage patch.

I gagged on the spinach “milkshakes” and that left only veggie soup – no meat. After a few days of this torture, my legs were wobbly. Stars filled my eyes when I stood. The rabbit that nibbles my grass in the morning was eating better than I was.

I grew lethargic and shed pounds like water through your fingers, symptoms that my wife mysteriously seemed to avoid. Being the faithful husband, I carried on nonetheless.

She announced we were switching to the “pre-surgery” diet, something she lifted from a magazine.

“Why do we need the pre-surgery diet,” I protested, “when we have no surgeries planned?”

“That’s beside the point,” she explained. “It’s for rapid weight loss before surgery and it’ll be good for us, trust me.”

I became delirious from hunger. Cloudy thinking. Couldn’t remember where I put things. Lost favorite baseball cap. Looked in her car and BOOM! The smoking gun – an empty Wendy’s bag!

I grabbed it and confronted her. “What vulgarity have you inflicted upon your body? Have you been two-timing me?”

“Oh that. Goodness, I forgot to throw that away. I was running errands and my blood sugar got down on me [translation: she got hungry] so I had to grab something quickly, that’s all. Wendy’s was the closest thing.”

Culinary infidelity in the first degree. Furious, I stormed out and hightailed it to Wendy’s. I was in critical condition by then. Dizzy, I walked hangdog to the counter and could barely concentrate. Somehow, I rattled off “triple cheeseburger, large fries, and sweet tea.” Never had a triple in my life.

Meat and cheese, grease and ketchup, oh my. I instantly felt better. My vigorous, clear-thinking old self was back. Endorphins flowed like the chocolate Frosty that seeped into the cracks and crevices of my stomach. I clicked my heels in the air as I exited.

After that coming out, I went on a vicious eating binge to show my wife that two can play the game. Cheeseburgers, fried chicken, French fries, fried this, fried that. I went on a true pre-surgery diet – the open-heart variety. I’m happy to report we are back on a “normal” diet. I have forgiven her for her indiscretion.

Stop the presses, Oprah is back on TV!