I am not a short-order cook.
Once in a rare while I generously snap out of my bad mood and offer to do something nice for my family. Today, since Ali was working from home, I decided to make him lunch before I headed to work.
Me: “Do you want me to make you a turkey sandwich?”
2 minutes elapse. I roll my eyes.
Me: “It’s not a life altering decision you know. It’s a sandwich. Yes or no?”
Ali: “I guess so. But only if you put hummus in it.”
I refrain from asking when I DON’T put hummus in his sandwich. I roll my eyes again.
Me: “Do you want one or two?”
Ali: “One or two what?”
I grit my teeth.
Ali: “One and a half.”
I somehow stop myself from mentioning that 1.5 sandwiches will put the entire loaf of bread at an odd number, thereby making future sandwiches a challenge. I quiet an impending panic attack.
Me: “What do you want on the side?”
Another 2 minutes elapse. The rage I feel inside? There are no words to describe it.
Me: “Frickin’ A! I’m not sure if you know this or not, but making you a sandwich isn’t the only thing I have to do today!”
Ali: “What are my options?”
Me: “Options? Holy s@#$, seriously?”
It’s a miracle really that I refrained…from everything. From stating that I’m not a short-order cook. From throwing a bag of Doritos over his head. From running away and finding a husband who can appreciate the simple gesture of a turkey sandwich.
Anymore questions as to why I don’t offer to do nice things for my family very often?
I didn’t think so.