Sunday, October 18, 2015

no matter how you slice it

The man is no dummy, he knows the way to my heart is through the grocery store. He wins husband of the year, every single time, when he responds with a "send me your list" to my subtle wails of "I DON'T WANNA GO TO THE GROCERY STORE!! Wahhhhhhh!!"

That's a lot of husband of the year awards. We might need a bigger house to store them in.

If I don't have to do the grocery shopping then he doesn't have to endure me and my post grocery shopping lunacy. That sounds like a win-win to me.

I really really really hate that chore. Like, really. So yesterday when I said "we need groceries" he said, in his wise wisdom-y way, "send me a list." Upon that list were the words lunch and meat.

Lunch meat.

And . . . this is what he came home with.

Dude, c'mon now, that is not lunch meat. That's a ham. And some crappy, processed, semi-meat product. No matter which way you slice it, that's not lunch meat.

Okay, I will compromise on this and admit that the ham, if sliced appropriately, becomes lunch meat. But who wants to cut up a ham?

Also, there is such a thing as a stupid question. Who wants to cut up a ham? The man does.

And with a big grin upon his furry face, he asked, "Where's the meat slicer?"

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