It's a little weird how much of my relationship with Fred revolved around chicken.
The night after I had discussed the chicken wings incident with Fred, we went to Raising Canes. Since Fred had already eaten one dinner and I am hardly the type of girl who can pack a continuous stream of chicken wings for three hours (sorry, I love my size 2 ass too much), we decieded to split a Caniac (which I paid for).
For those of you out of the loop, this includes 6 chicken fingers, some fries and two pieces of toast (this is important).
Well, since Fred was too busying blowing on a conch shell (insert phallic reference here), I went ahead and seperated the chicken fingers, removing three for myself. Well, this did not go over well. He threw a hissy fit (seriously, a fucking hissy fit) that I was trying to eat his food.
Um, wow. Didn't know he was so protective over it (just kidding, his fat ass and matching beer gut was a dead giveaway that he never let one morsel of food escape his claws).
Also, as a math major, he really should have realized that removing three chicken fingers from a six chicken finger meal is, in fact, taking half of it. But apparently he was blinded by the idea of being potentially denied a chicken finger.
In his fit, he claimed that I was trying to take his food from him. Apparently he believed this to be an ongoing problem. This was weird to me because we were about the same height, but I was half his weight. He was clearly not missing out on any food.
Anyway, I finally got my act together and and dumped him after this...I just wish I hadn't taken him back a few weeks later. D'oh!
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1 comment:
why oh why do we ever go back to these losers?
Oh also, you should just made him buy you one. Seriously. I woulda helped you eat it.
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