I knew as soon as Amy came down with the first set of sniffles that her germs would find their way to me. My wife is a magnet for any germs that venture within 100 miles and she always finds a way to share.

So when I came down with the cold that had hobbled me for the past several days, I knew what had to be done: Amy must die.

I plotted her demise in many ways during bouts with fever, nausea and a constantly dripping nose. I would chop her up in little pieces, bury most in various places on the property and leave a few pieces out for the bears, coyotes and bobcats.  The woods are thick around the house. No one would ever find her.

I’ve watched CSI, Criminal Minds and Bones. Any of these shows provide adequate education on how to kill, mutilate and destroy a loved one.  I concocted a couple of good cover stories: She went back to Illinois to live with an uncle or maybe she ran off with one of the guys who keeps hitting on her at bingo. People are always telling me they can’t understand why she stays with me. They will believe she left.

But she brought sushi home last night and the wasabi helped clear my sinuses.

So I will let her live.

For a little while longer.

Maybe.