Blow Up

Do you remember the last time your significant other went BANANAZ?

I do! 

It was Sunday. I was generously making him a turkey sandwich with the delicious leftovers from White Grandma's house. All was good in the world.

Until he felt the bread. 

"Are you serious? Vicky! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?!?!?!?!"

"Come here. Feel this. FEEL this."

But I didn't need to go there. Or feel that. I knew exactly what I did. It wasn't on par with killing a small adorable animal. But apparently darn close. 

I dared to use the piece of bread that's closet to the heel. BECAUSE THAT'S HOW I GREW UP.

You use the heel of the bread to keep the next piece fresh. So it's fine to use that piece in a sandwich.

"No. No. NO it isn't! You always use the last piece AND the piece next to it. FEEL THIS. You've now wasted two pieces of bread!"

Actually, you have. When I'm done with a loaf of bread, all that remains are those two end pieces. Not the the end pieces and an extra piece. If you just eat that first piece every time, it doesn't have time to get stale. Right?

"NO. That is ALL WRONG. I can't BELIEVE YOU USED THAT PIECE. YOU ARE WRONG. SO wrong. Why would you do that? I can't believe you did that." *Scraping bits of turkey off the offensive piece of bread*

"Why Vicky? WHY? Why would you do that?"

He puts mayonnaise on another piece of bread, throws the devil piece away and says, "You should blog about that. You are WRONG So wrong."

So I put it to you: eat the first slice every time? Or use the heel and the first slice as buffers?

After the breadcrumbs settled we had a good belly laugh. I was like, "Dude, you totally lost it over a piece of bread."

I guess I'm a lucky wife if that's what puts my husband over the top.