I should have taken my sandwich when I had the chance.

I didn't so my husband thought it was his.

I even did my insulin already.

Guess I'll have pb&j.

It's fine

Really

I'll just ask my Dad if it's important next time he talks to me so I can be sure to listen.

My. Bad.

Wouldn't normally be an issue, except it was made with my allergies in mind. They even label it "GF"

Obviously this is my own damn fault.

I should have listened to my dad when he talked about it.

🚩

He goes for the low blow, pity, and says: 'My mouth is burning.'

I laugh first (losing but it feels like winning anyway) and he's like, 'Real nice, I wanted a nice plain sandwich on nice plain bread. With plain cheese and ham, and then something is burning me!"

And I broke.

So I tell Dad - "Oh, I got the buffalo chicken this time! It said so right on the label!"

(Comments like that are never addressed for fear we might spiral into a debate on whether or not everyone should be taught to read where he plays devils advocate. Don't ask how that ends.)

He likes meat & potatoes, tractors that don't quite work right so you got to fiddle with them away from the wife on weekends, and bland sandwiches with unseasoned white bread, mechanically bricked 'ham ', mass produced mock genoa salami, mayonaise, and chicken as pale and dry as he is.

(Reminder Dad pretty much has the sophisticated palate of a 20 year old trade school taught son of two immigrants.)

I usually go for the sweeter lunch meat options.

Like Honey BBQ.

But this time...

.

.

.
This time...

.

.

.

.
I got the buffalo chicken.

He's sitting watching TV and I hear him yell to me (house smol, we no get up, tired, just yell)

"Hey, what kind of chicken is this?"

And I'm thinking, what does he mean?

And that's when I remembered...