Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Just a normal suppertime
Yesterday the guys' household was filled with whining that although home-cooked meals are great, some people have been missing the days when pizza was ordered every night for weeks. 52 boxes in 10 days or something like that. Yeah, that's a thing to be missed in a guy's world I guess.
So, we ordered Dominos, because cinnasticks are mandatory (so I was told). I assembled my plate in Annette fashion. Just the right amount of everything. One slice of pizza, about 8 baby carrots (guys, don't say ewwww), 2 cinnasticks. One wasn't enough, 3 would be too many. One wide slice and one thin slice for variety. You might not know this about me, but I'm quirky about food.
This "idiosyncracy" is now reason for being picked on every meal. Tonight Scott began by pushing my food around on the plate because he said my quadrants were too close together for my own standards. Knowing that I plan the 'perfect' blend and amounts, with a master plan of what to end with (the sweetest items), a plan was in action to undermine me.
I was busy eating, talking, helping Matthew, and had initially downed a couple carrots. What I didn't notice until they were all gone was...Scott and Ben had both eaten the rest of my carrots. Grabbed them right off the plate without me noticing. After they were long gone I looked down and something caught my eye - A CINNASTICK WAS GONE! Who cares about the missing carrots! That was it. I raced to the pizza box to replace it, refusing to believe their words about being no more left. They knew better than to take my sweet food, didn't they? I arrived quickly at the box, to find it e-m-p-t-y. My face contorted as I screached out a tortured scream, which Ben describes more as the gates of hell opening up. In disbelief I looked at the guys just as Ben's coke spurted out of his mouth and nose onto the pizza on his plate. Was it horror or laughter? Hard to tell.
Devastated, I returned to the table whining about how mean they were to wreck my meal like that. Ben, grimacing, continued to eat his coke and flem soaked pizza. He kept whining about how his nostrils were burning. Poor baby. HE got to have 3 cinnasticks.
Next time I order pizza, it's payback. I'm eating all the dessert before they know it's there.
So, we ordered Dominos, because cinnasticks are mandatory (so I was told). I assembled my plate in Annette fashion. Just the right amount of everything. One slice of pizza, about 8 baby carrots (guys, don't say ewwww), 2 cinnasticks. One wasn't enough, 3 would be too many. One wide slice and one thin slice for variety. You might not know this about me, but I'm quirky about food.
This "idiosyncracy" is now reason for being picked on every meal. Tonight Scott began by pushing my food around on the plate because he said my quadrants were too close together for my own standards. Knowing that I plan the 'perfect' blend and amounts, with a master plan of what to end with (the sweetest items), a plan was in action to undermine me.
I was busy eating, talking, helping Matthew, and had initially downed a couple carrots. What I didn't notice until they were all gone was...Scott and Ben had both eaten the rest of my carrots. Grabbed them right off the plate without me noticing. After they were long gone I looked down and something caught my eye - A CINNASTICK WAS GONE! Who cares about the missing carrots! That was it. I raced to the pizza box to replace it, refusing to believe their words about being no more left. They knew better than to take my sweet food, didn't they? I arrived quickly at the box, to find it e-m-p-t-y. My face contorted as I screached out a tortured scream, which Ben describes more as the gates of hell opening up. In disbelief I looked at the guys just as Ben's coke spurted out of his mouth and nose onto the pizza on his plate. Was it horror or laughter? Hard to tell.
Devastated, I returned to the table whining about how mean they were to wreck my meal like that. Ben, grimacing, continued to eat his coke and flem soaked pizza. He kept whining about how his nostrils were burning. Poor baby. HE got to have 3 cinnasticks.
Next time I order pizza, it's payback. I'm eating all the dessert before they know it's there.
// posted by Annette @ 11:31 p.m. 