Don’t mess with my grilled cheese
John and I had an epic (for us) fight that started Tuesday night and lasted through most of Wednesday. A fight that started over grilled cheese, and snowballed into a fight about everything else.
Yes, you read that right. It started over grilled fucking cheese.
I worked until 7 on Tuesday night, and didn’t get home until 7:30. John was in charge of making dinner for us and my mom, and he made grilled cheese and soup. A favorite of mine. When we sat down to dinner, there were 4 sandwiches, 2 for him, and one each for my mom and I. He said, “Oh, these two are mine. I accidentally burned them”. Ok, I’m fine with that.
And then I started eating the worst grilled cheese of my life. It was cold, soggy, and not gooey at all. I pulled apart the bread, and looked at my not so cheesy grilled cheese. “Did you only use one piece of cheese?” I asked. He responded, “Yeah, there wasn’t much cheese left, so I only used one slice”. Ha, ok. We can easily go buy another pack of cheese at the store tomorrow, but whatevs, I’ll go with it.
And then I noticed him eating the most delicious looking grilled cheese, that is actually oozing cheese. I called him out on it! “How many pieces of cheese do BOTH of your sandwiches have?!” He replied “2 slices each”, like it was NBD.
What. The. Fuck. You can use four slices of cheese for your TWO sandwiches, and only spare one slice each for my mom and I? And then tried to hide it by saying those two sandwiches were yours because you burned them a little? And you don’t see why this would piss BOTH of us off?! I really don’t get men.
And that friends, is how an epic fight started over grilled cheese.
((I can’t be the only one who thinks this is absolutely ridiculous…right?))
