I had to laugh/smh at MrsTasty during our McD's meal.
She's big on coupons. She loves coupons. I can't be bothered, except for digital ones.
She had three McD's coupons: money off a Big Mac meal, money off a Quarter-Pounder meal, and money off a Filet-O-Fish meal.
MrsT: Which one do you want?
Me: I don't care. You can pick whatever you want. I'll just have one of the burgers.
MrsT: Well, we just had fish, so I could have a burger, but I'm tired of burgers, and I haven't had a McD's fish sandwich in a long time...so you don't want the fish, you're sure?
Me: Yep. I'll have one of the burgers. Doesn't matter which one.
MrsT: OK, I'll have the fish, so which burger for you?
Me: Ummmm...Big Mac. It's a burger. Not much difference.
We get our food. Instead of just digging in, like I do, she starts deconstructing everything, looking for something to complain about. She does this with every restaurant meal. Always has.
Pulls apart the bun, complains about the color of the fish, the amount of tartar sauce, and the lopsided cheese.
"At least the bun's ok," I joked, already half through my Big Mac.
She put it back together, half-heartedly ate everything, then heading back home, she said this:
"I really wanted the Big Mac, but I knew you wanted it, so I took the fish, even though I didn't want it."
No matter what I would have picked, she would have found fault with whatever she had, then declared that she really wanted what I had, but she martyred herself for my dining happiness.
She's big on coupons. She loves coupons. I can't be bothered, except for digital ones.
She had three McD's coupons: money off a Big Mac meal, money off a Quarter-Pounder meal, and money off a Filet-O-Fish meal.
MrsT: Which one do you want?
Me: I don't care. You can pick whatever you want. I'll just have one of the burgers.
MrsT: Well, we just had fish, so I could have a burger, but I'm tired of burgers, and I haven't had a McD's fish sandwich in a long time...so you don't want the fish, you're sure?
Me: Yep. I'll have one of the burgers. Doesn't matter which one.
MrsT: OK, I'll have the fish, so which burger for you?
Me: Ummmm...Big Mac. It's a burger. Not much difference.
We get our food. Instead of just digging in, like I do, she starts deconstructing everything, looking for something to complain about. She does this with every restaurant meal. Always has.
Pulls apart the bun, complains about the color of the fish, the amount of tartar sauce, and the lopsided cheese.
"At least the bun's ok," I joked, already half through my Big Mac.
She put it back together, half-heartedly ate everything, then heading back home, she said this:
"I really wanted the Big Mac, but I knew you wanted it, so I took the fish, even though I didn't want it."
No matter what I would have picked, she would have found fault with whatever she had, then declared that she really wanted what I had, but she martyred herself for my dining happiness.