Aaron Traister isn't breaking any laws — or vows. But he has secrets, from the petty to the profound, that you (and his wife — hi, Karel!) really ought to know. 

By Aaron Traister

My wife and I have an honest, open relationship, mostly because Karel can read me as easily as a Stephenie Meyer novel, so I can't lie to her. But there are a few things I simply don't tell her. I'm not hiding a heroin addiction or a mistress, nothing that could financially ruin us or cause bodily harm — just moments of my life I need sole ownership over. This is what — and why — I don't tell:

1. How much crap I eat when she's not around. The other afternoon I left the kids with Karel and went to the bar to write. (It's quieter there than at my house — amazing, I know.) This bar is famous for serving a sandwich called the Schmitter, which is made with grilled salami, steak, tomatoes, fried onions, cheese, and "special sauce" on a kaiser bun. It was such a rare treat not to have to put the kids to bed that I cut loose and consumed three in a row. Let me repeat: I had three in three hours (along with three pints of Guinness). When I got home and Karel asked me if I'd eaten, I just said, "Yes," as I staggered to the couch. Had I been more specific with my semi-vegetarian wife, I would've caught