I had my usual bi-weekly team meeting from 5-6pm tonight, which means that Chris gets upset, as that means he has to eat dinner later. In his ideal world, my husband would like to eat dinner at 5 or 5:30. If my last meeting ends at 6, the earliest I’d be able to get home is 6:30, which means his stomach ends up grumbling and he gets grumpy.
I usually fix dinner for us, even if it’s just leftovers, since I’m a bit of a control freak, and I want to make sure that certain things are served the right way. If we’re having my chicken enchiladas with mole, for example, that means making sure each one is rolled with chicken, mole, cheese, and cilantro on the inside, then topped with more mole, cheese, and some avocado. But since I would be getting home later tonight, I told Chris he was in charge of fixing up dinner.
When I got home, the enchiladas were not rolled. Instead, they were presented on the plates as tacos fully open. “Hey, these aren’t enchiladas. These are tacos. You have to roll them!” I exclaimed.
“It’s all the same shit!” Chris indignantly said. “It’s a bunch of stuff in a tortilla!”
Uh-huh. Sure it is.