Unfortunately, there are so many Fat Cats a person can eat and as I got older I realized I couldn't exist off of Tostitos, peanut butter, cigarettes and wine without getting scurvy or some other horrible disease that would make my hair look lifeless. Or kill me.
This mythical beast of a sandwich is known as a Fat Darryl. They are delicious and disgusting, all wrapped up as one in a gigantic hoagie.
It was around this time, in my late twenties, when I met ML, whose culinary tastes couldn't have possibly been further from mine if we tried. He's a vegetarian. I like my meat stuffed with meat. He thinks tofu is awesome. Tofu makes me violently projectile hurl.
Meal times were kind of strange for us because our habits differed. Neither of us are exemplary cooks (I'll grudgingly admit he's a better cook than I am but more on that later) so dinner was usually us nibbling on sandwiches or him cooking something vegetarian while I fried something delicious and bloody and once-alive.
It's a symbiotic eating relationship. Our kitchen is itty bitty but we've got the groove down by this point and have managed not to accidentally stab the other one while we're cooking (there were a few close calls).
It's exactly like this but miniature and with more, "get the fuck out of my way" and potty humor.
Food fights are not that unusual either.
However, there is one thing that ML does that makes me, how shall we say, TOTALLY FUCKING STRAIGHT-UP HULKING ENGRAGED. No matter how much I try to designate a space for him vs. a space for me, he still somehow manages to use every counter top, utensil and goddamn pot and pan we own when he cooks.
Our kitchen after ML made pizza. Fucking broccoli pizza...
Even if he's just making eggs.
So far, the only thing I've figured out that works is that I have to rub my raw meat all over whatever I want to use - cutting board, pan, etc. It's like the adult version of licking the last cupcake so your sibling won't eat it. Unfortunately, I usually forget about this because I'm knocked senseless by the disaster he makes in the kitchen and have only remembered to employ this strategy once or twice.
I just don't understand. When I cook, I take out exactly what I'm going to use, wash shit or put it in the dishwasher as I continue to cook and clean up after myself. ML is like a whirling dervish of ingredients and utensils when he cooks. He has zero concept of "clean as you go" and for-the-love-of-all-that-is-holy he leaves chunks of food and egg shells in the sink and then is totally baffled why I go apeshit because, duuuude, we don't have a garbage disposal. We've never had a garbage disposal.
How the kitchen looks when I'm cooking (not my kitchen, because this one has a nice dishwasher and mine is ghetto as all hell).
Anything that hits the kitchen floor apparently falls under a forcefield that renders it invisible to him but not to me.
I don't want to chalk this up to one of those "men vs. women" things but I have to wonder - is it? What possesses him to use four cutting boards to cut up one pepper and a zucchini? Is it because he has a dick or he's being a dick? I'm assuming the former because, honestly? ML is a pretty awesome guy.
Does anyone else's husband/boyfriend/person with a penis do this? And more importantly, if you remove his penis, will it stop?
Then again, if that's the only option, I think I'll deal with the cooking warfare.