Last night Tara was wrapping things up in the kitchen, so I told her I’d meet her in the bedroom. Halfway there I realized I’d forgotten something on the dining room table, so I turned around and retraced my steps. She was not expecting me to return, and as soon as she saw me, hid her hands behind her back.

Suspicion level: 10.

“What do you have there?!” I asked.

“Nothing,” she replied.

Suspicion level: 11.

Clearly she was hiding something from me. Upon further interrogation, she confessed to adding a handful of salt to the coffee grounds. I preprogram the coffeemaker every night so a fresh pot brews automatically when we get up the next morning, but salt is never part of the equation. She explained that Alton Brown, in her eyes the quintessential expert on all things cooking-related, swears that a little salt in your coffee grounds cuts down on the bitterness, and wanted to try it for herself. Odd as that sounded, I accepted her explanation and we went to bed.

While showering this morning, it occurred to me that this is how spouses commit murder. You turn your back for a second and your significant other furtively adds something to your beverage. Next thing you know the doctor is pronouncing you dead and Keith Morrison is devoting 60 minutes to exploring the mystery behind your final days in all his velvety smooth-voiced glory. It was a rather unnerving thought. 

I mentioned my realization to Tara this morning, and she accused me of watching too much Dateline NBC. Guilty as charged, but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t accusing her of trying to kill me or anything, simply stating that the salt could have been arsenic in the hands of somebody with murder on their mind. Good thing our relationship is solid!

Or was until I almost called her a killer.

Speaking of Keith Morrison, here’s a video of him reading from the telephone book. Why? Because, that voice!

Countdown: 128 Days