“What the hell!!”
I look up from my laptop to see Boyfriend standing in front of the freezer, a spoon in his hand, digging into a pint of Ben & Jerrys like a gopher in a golf course.
“What’s your problem?”
“There are no chunks in this ice cream. Not one chunk!”
“So?”
“So you dug through the entire carton of New York Super Fudge Chunk and systematically ate every chunk!”
“Your point being?”
“You can’t just eat every chunk, then put it back in the freezer!”
“Why not?”
“You just can’t. It’s like the time we went to that cajun place and split that stuff, what’s it called, crawfish etouffee or whatever, and you picked out all the crawfish. Or Thai noodles and you ate all the noodles and left the rest.”
“What can I say. I like what I like.”
“And what if I like it too?”
I set my laptop on the coffee table and turn to face him. “Excuse me? I went to the grocery store, navigated the freezer isle, chose this ice cream, purchased it with money that I earned and then carried it home to my apartment. If I want to then dig out the chunks, I’ll dig out the damn chunks.”
He shuts the freezer door and looks me straight in the eye. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time I order in or buy groceries for OUR apartment.”
Shit. I hate it when he’s right.