A Confession

I sat across from my wife and watched her devour an entire pizza. Cheese and tomato sauce trickled down her chins as she reached for the last box of Twinkies. She belched and tore the box open.

I’d seen enough.

I grabbed a hammer from the kitchen junk drawer and with one deadly blow; she fell from her chair onto the floor.

Bludgeoned and gasping for breath in a pool of blood; she whimpered, “Why?” Then she twitched and died, still clutching a half-eaten Twinkie.

I bent and placed a black rose in her gaping mouth.

“Rest in peace, Bertha.”