JEREMY CORBETT

A SPOONFUL OF TABLETS HELPS THE MARRIAGE GO DOWN

Idon’t particularly crave food in the morning. Don’t get me wrong – I love a good breakfast, and when I am in one of my frequent throw-cautionto-the-wind phases I dig in heartily, but it’s a brain-motivated reward rather than a stomach demand.

So at the moment, while I attempt my annual attack on my fat deposits, I figure I can skip brekkie since my body isn’t demanding it. I’m fasting merely because I’m playing to my strengths.

I’m not Superman though, so

I can’t skip coffee. Currently, my morning intake consists of a cup or two. Black. Not because fasting law demands it, but simply because, by lucky accident, it’s how I prefer it.

For some time, however, my good wife has been sabotaging my starvation with some weird things called “vitamins”.

When I arrive at the coffee machine, I find two glasses waiting: one contains a selection of colourful pills, the other a small portion of water with which to wash them down.

I thank my beloved for caring about me so much and for going to so much trouble, then like a good patient, under her watchful eye, I down the pills and the water.

I can attest these pills do have an impact: when I don’t take them, Megan tells me off; when I do take them, she seems happy. Who knew vitamin C had such far-reaching effects? I’m delighted to gulp down my prescription for a happy marriage.

But in terms of my own personal health, I’m not convinced they are doing much at all, apart from introducing some startling new colours to my bodily functions.

I hope that’s a known side effect. It’s only just occurred to me I’ve never seen the bottles these pills come from. The trust is strong in our relationship but is it possible my beloved is medicating me?

I’ve ruled out poisoning.

I don’t think she’d eliminate the only other kid-raiser in the house. And she’s never struck me as particularly criminal apart from the odd Jaffa at the bulk bins.

(For the record, Megan, the life insurance just wouldn’t be worth it.)

The pills aren’t blue. So, it’s not that.

Things have been running pretty smoothly in the relationship lately. She’s been having a lot of good ideas. I can’t think of one I’ve even challenged in the last two months.

Surely my agreeability is a result of the post-holiday honeymoon vibe and my generally positive feeling about life at the moment.

Maybe it’s not. Maybe these pills are the opiate of the missus. Lulling me into some sort of blissful compliance.

As I see it I have two options: Stop taking the pills and see if I become a difficult husband, or continue my meds and keep both of us happy.

It may be the chemicals typing, but I’m gravitating to option two.

If it’s taken me six weeks to detect it and I’ve been content all that time, why rock the boat?

Faithfully yours, Medicated Male.