There’s nothing I enjoy more than the creamy, tangy taste of a homemade potato salad. “Heaven in a Bowl,” I like to call it. I’ve been a fool for the stuff ever since I was kid, and I’ve sampled some pretty tasty batches in my day, too. But let me tell you, if they ever held some sort of Potato Salad Olympics, every gold medal would go to Jessica, the woman I’ve been nailing behind my wife’s back for nearly three years now.
I don’t know if it’s the fresh ingredients she uses, or that extra little pinch of “T.LC.,” but whatever it is, Jessica’s potato salad really makes the weekends I spend with her while Cheryl thinks I’m out of town on a work- related trip something special.
You know that old expression “You’ve tried the rest, now try the best?” Well, when it comes to potato salad, believe me, I’ve tried the rest, and the one made by the woman I have been stringing along for my own carnal pleasure definitely takes the cake. Heck, I used to think I was pretty handy in the kitchen myself, but Jessica’s cooking puts me to shame as surely as my reckless, selfish philandering does.
She’s not a professional cook or prostitute, but honestly, she’s good enough to be. That’s why I’m proud to call her mine! I had a feeling she was special back when she was babysitting my kids in the ’90s, but once I got my first bite of that rich, potato-y goodness, that’s when I realized this woman was a keeper.
The time I spend at the apartment I’m renting for her is like the Fourth of July: potato salad in the dining room, fireworks in the bedroom, and the celebration of independence from a petty, castrating shrew! The kind of special occasion where I say, “You know what? Forget the extra calories and the risk of spreading an STD to my wife on one of our rare, hellish couplings.”
Apparently it’s from an old family recipe that Jessica’s mother passed down to her along with enough emotional baggage to keep her sexually servicing a man with whom she clearly has no future.
She buys these baby redskin potatoes with her secret monthly cash allowance, adds just enough balsamic vinegar and Grey Poupon, and then tops it off with a perfectly balanced blend of seasonings so mouthwatering that it takes all of my willpower not to gab about it to the very wife and child who must never, ever know. And let me ask you this: Who cares enough to make their own mayonnaise with gourmet olive oil and sea salt? Not my wife, that’s for sure. But here’s Jessica’s big secret: a teaspoon of horseradish in every batch! And here’s my big secret: I have sweaty, adulterous sex with Jessica several times a month!
The salad alone would be enough to win me over, but Jessica is great at so much else. Terrific coleslaw, a willingness to wait indefinitely for a divorce I have no intention of getting, the only corn chowder I’ve ever really liked, and a flawless “telemarketer” voice when she calls my house and Cheryl picks up. Oh! And her baked macaroni-and-cheese is good enough to be an entrée.
Truth be told, I sometimes feel bad about the whole thing. The eggs have so much saturated fat, and I promised my doctor I’d cut my carbs and get more green vegetables. But hey! Where’s the fun in life if you can’t cheat a little bit?
