My wife, Dorothy, always has to win the argument.

Let me give you an example. Last year, I’d put on a little weight. Not a lot, but enough to show my forty years. So on New Year’s Eve, I declared my resolution to drop thirty pounds.

“You’ll never make it,” Dorothy said. “You don’t have the willpower.”

Oh no? I told her I would do it, and I’d start the next day.

“We’ll see.”

The plan to lose weight was to give up carbohydrates. All carbs. No more bread, no cookies, cereal, Doritos, or potatoes. Even my salads would come with no croutons.

“How’s it going?” Dorothy asked.

“No problem.”

My wife scoffed, but I really felt in control of myself. It really would be no problem.

No problem for the first two days anyway.

After that, the pangs started coming. It would wake me in the middle of the night, my stomach tying in knots.

In the morning, I’d poke at a bland egg white omelet, while Dorothy slathered cream cheese on her bagel, directly across the table from me.

“Ready to give?”

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