Oct 4, 2005 4 min read

My wife eats sardines in the dark. Married for nearly two decades, there are few mysteries left between my lovely wife and I. We both know the things we do that bother or please each other.

Some of our peeves?

She complains about me leaving dishes in the sink instead of putting them in the dishwasher and I complain about her taking pens I use for work and not returning them.

We each have a remote control for the TV but somehow hers always finds its way into the sofa and I have to retrieve it to keep her from taking my remote.

I lay my dirty socks on top of the clothes hamper (don’t ask me why) and she has to put them in or gather them up when she does the laundry.

Sometimes the reminders we pass between us about the annoying things the other person does get a little sharp, maybe when we’re overtired or tested by something else that day.

In the end, however, all it takes is a little thought and consideration and we each rise to the occasion to leave the dishes or pens where they belong.

Food, however, is another thing.

I can’t stand liver. My wife loves it. I enjoy a heaping pile of buttered and salted grits with my breakfast. She still can’t understand why anyone would eat the stuff. Despite our disliking some of the foods each other enjoys, we compromise. She can cook her liver for herself and I can boil some grits for myself.

It’s a system that has worked for us on nearly every victual except one: sardines.

I cannot stand the creepy, slimy things. Not only do I find their appearance about as disgusting as festering sacks of garbage, I loath their noxious odor.

Naturally, my wife eats them right out of the can (she prefers them in oil, or so she tells me).

But early in our life together she learned an open can of sardines in the house turns my stomach faster than a politician can change position on an issue.

So, deferring to my aversion to the nasty little fish, she eats them on the sly.

Recently, while helping her unpack some groceries, I found she had purchased two tins of the things.

“Where do you want me to put these?’ I said, preparing to throw them into the trash.

“Just put them on the shelf in the pantry,’ she replied.

“Why do you eat these?’ I asked, probably for the thousandth time during our relationship.

And the reply was the same. “I like them,’ she said, making assurances she wouldn’t eat them while I was in the house and would keep all the windows open when she did. She also carefully washes out the sardine can before putting it in the trash, just to make sure no aroma lingers.

Waking a few nights later to find her missing from our bed, I got up, stumbled through to the living room and found her asleep on the sofa.

This isn’t uncommon for either of us at our age. Often we wake in the middle of the night and, unable to go back to sleep, will rise and move to the living room to read or watch TV until we doze off again.

“Why were you on the couch?’ I asked her the next day.

“Oh, my legs were bothering me,’ she replied.

That wasn’t all.

She admitted she wanted some sardines. So, when she awoke, she went to the kitchen, popped open a can and ate them – in the dark – with crackers.

I never suspected. And if she hadn’t confessed, I never would have known.

Which is fine by me. She can do it anytime she wants, as long as she keeps it to herself.

After all, ignorance (in most cases) is bliss.

And on the subject of sardines, the more blissful I am, the better.

Have a good day.

James Pletcher Jr. is business editor at the Herald-Standard.He can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by email at begin Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com Jpletcher@heraldstandard.com end

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