I’m cheating with a married man. Well, he’s cheating with me, rather. We share an office, writing
propaganda advertising for a prestigious company, and most days, we end up eating lunch at our desks. He brings meat and potatoes. I bring salads and grains. Lately he’s been grumbling about how he wishes his wife would make more vegetables. When I asked why he doesn’t just tell her, he said he has to tread lightly on the subject. That's her turf. So I came up with different ways he could broach the subject, like “Hey, I’ve been craving kale” or “Gee, I could really go for some flavonoids or beta carotene tonight!” He just shook his head and muttered something inaudible under his breath.
That’s when my hussydom began. The next day, I shared some of my raw sugar snap peas with him. There's nothing like a little afternoon delight. The following day I brought some of my red cabbage slaw. He couldn't resist. Then I doubled my recipe for roasted broccolini and garlic with sundried tomatoes, feta and pine nuts. Hell, I was making it anyway. But why stop there? Could a little ratatouille hurt? An herb spring salad mix with homemade Dijon shallot vinaigrette? What’s a little bok choy among friends? He was so into it and felt so guilty, that after we did the deed, we never spoke of it. We just went about our work as if nothing ever happened. And then I thought about her. How would she feel about all this? Would she think I was denigrating her cooking? Was I implying that she couldn’t satisfy her man?
Then, the epiphany. Not only was my service needed, I could turn it into big business, providing nourishment to other plant-starved men. I would be the Heidi Fleiss of vegetables. There must be plenty of Charlie Sheens out there with an uncontrollable hankering for squash, rutabaga and broccoflower. I could have a whole ring of on-call chefs, ready to deliver the goods in back alleys across the city. Then I would expand to other states and create a whole empire of vegetable lovers. We wouldn’t be breaking any laws. It wouldn't be hurting anyone. You can't blame a veggie john for his behavior. I mean, what red-blooded male could resist gettin' a little arugula on the side?