When we get behind closed doors…

I don’t make a habit of keeping secrets from my husband. Or doing things behind his back. Honesty and communication are two huge parts of a working marriage. Everyone’s got a squeaky wheel from time to time, but I really think that if you are communicating and being truthful with one another you can work through almost anything.

There is one thing though that my husband just plain does not approve of. I’ve known it from the start. I kept away from it the entire time we were dating and engaged. Well, wait. I might have had one slip, but that’s all. I promise. My respect for his opinion is much higher than my need want for this. All through college this was a major player in my life. I partook…a lot. He did, too, in his early days, but…

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. – 1 Corinthians 13:11

And for the most part, once we got married and were in such close quarters (with him living in what had been my domain and mine alone), I thought I would give it up too.

Then there was Friday. He had some things to do after school. A student was testing and then he wanted to get some things arranged in his room.

I’ve got time.

Hours, maybe. As I drove home, I developed a plan. He would be out of the house for a while. I could get by with it. I knew I could. Even though I knew that later that night I would be admitting it to Kevin. The smell would stay on me. And the smell is unmistakable.

I pulled into the parking lot, ran inside, and emerged with my spoils. I wondered how my clandestine activities might have appeared to anyone watching, but once I was home, what other people thought was the last thing on my mind.

I dug into the paperbag. Here I was. Home. In private. No one could see me. And in my hand was the thing I had been missing for so long.

I thought about my husband. He has his reasons for wanting to stay away from it. It was in abundance in college. Literally at our fingertips wherever we went at OU. Always available. A little on the trashy side, maybe. Poor quality, there’s no doubt. But there is something about it that reminds me of high school. Of being behind the bleachers during a football game. The taste…

Mmm.

I know it’s not respectable. I’m not sure what it says about me that in a moment of weakness this is what I turn to. I thought I had broken the habit.

You know what my addiction is, don’t you?

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Friday night, for the first time in years, I enjoyed the cheap, canned cheese taste of a Classic Nacho and a greasy Crunchy Taco (and later, a refrigerated one, as I was taught) from Taco Mayo.

EDIT: Apparently, searching for the terms “closet taco” will land you here now. Mission accomplished.

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1. 10 Probing Questions
2. No More First Days
3. Might bypass the pudding.