Everyone has guilty secrets. Most, we assume, are small ones. I have mine which, at my age, I’m not longer quite so guilty about. They are small secrets. I don’t, for example, put panty hose over my head and rob banks (although I could use the money). There are no crimes, major or minor, in my list of guilty secrets. But it’s time to clear this particular closet:
—My favorite pizza is Tombstone frozen. People roll their eyes when I tell them that, especially since I live in Chicago, famous for pizza. I don’t like our Chicago deep dish either. But Tombstone pizza, bumped up a bit with more cheese, some fake hamburger, slices of tomatoes, and fresh mushrooms, and you have my idea of a perfect pizza. So sue me.
—I don’t like my pasta al dente; I want it, if anything, overcooked. Why eat raw pasta?
—I love Jeopardy! in the afternoons. Assuming I can get the ABC channel, which I can’t always with my antenna reception. But I love sipping my afternoon coffee and proving that I really don’t know as much as I would like to think I do.
—I can rarely pass a 7-11 without getting a Slurpee. But I am a man of discriminating taste: I only drink the cola flavor.
—I don’t buy ice cream often, but when I do I do not dish it up; rather, I eat it right out of the carton. I’ve never claimed to be elegant.
—I prefer white rice to brown. I know brown is healthier, but, perhaps because white rice is what I grew up on, I prefer that.
—One of the great joys of retirement is an afternoon nap. Anywhere from noon to 4:00 you may find me recumbent, snuggled up with my cat Jake. I never nap for long, usually about half an hour, but it is a regular part of my afternoon and it never seems to interfere with night sleep. And to make sure I’m not disturbed, I turn the ringer on my phone to silent.
As sins go, this is a pretty pallid list. But it’s all I’ve got to offer. But there’s always the chance I might still rob that bank.