Our conversation upon arrival at the restaurant:
Me: This is so nice - you and me, a little "during the week" date.
Him: Yep. I just really needed a good meal.
Screeching sound. Like a needle on a record. Or the slamming brakes on a car. Or a marriage based on food satisfaction lies.
Me: Oh reallly?
Him: Well, not a good meal. Just a tasty meal. You know, a meal I can taste. Or, just, you know, a bigger meal. Heartier. So you didn't have to cook. Nevermind. S*#T.
The food arrives. I study the fried chicken sandwich he so desired. It was just as you'd expect it to be. Cheaply dressed in some chemical-based creamy substance, bright red tomato (lipstick). It's always the same story, ladies.
I told him I hoped he and his cheap fried chicken fantasy would be very happy together. I'm not going to feel like any less of a woman.
Even if I do start making fried chicken sandwiches
Is it a Midwest thing to say tasty, or a guy thing? I know Nick enjoys his meals when he says, "that was tasy, it had good flavor" as if he's some sort of food connoisseur instead of a 20-something boy who eats with his hands and somehow always ends up with food on the table and the messiest napkin.
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