That course of action turned out to be an egregious error on my part.
One day I came home burnt-out from the pressure of an impending deadline and an edict from my boss I could hardly stomach. I didn’t expect Mark home for several hours, so I poured myself a stiff drink—something I never did. Not stopping there, I filled a bowl full of chocolate crunch ice cream, dragged a bag of cookies from the cabinet and sat down in our beautifully furnished living room to have a real sob fest with myself. I was half way through the ice cream, finishing my sixth or seventh cookie and about to pour myself another drink, when Mark suddenly walked in the door.
He stared at me in disbelief. I’m sure he’d never seen me this way. I kept all my food vices in private, and the drinking was a new vice inspir
