He's finishing up in the office. I'm just finishing up in the kitchen, trying to time the meal perfectly.
"Are you just about finished in there?"
"Are you ready to eat? There's food."
"I like food."
He comes into the kitchen to help where he can, but I'm just buttering the last piece of toast out of the toaster (we have a two-slotter). The meal is done.
"Did you use this bread?" He points to the bread I've obviously used.
He picks up what remains of the loaf of bread. "Well, I was thinking about throwing it out. It's been here since the hurricane, all that time here without power."
"Well, go ahead and throw it out." (uttered as I hand him the plate full of hot, buttered toast.)
*I don't usually abandon a perfectly good loaf of bread
without comment. We're to a point in our marriage
where I understand, without argument, about his phobia
of any food that might be related to any other food that might
at any point in the next 48 hours sit next to something spoiled.*
He puts down the loaf to take the plate from me and in ONE motion, he deposits the ready-to-eat toast directly into the garbage.
"I meant THAT bread."
Laughter. Lots and lots of laughter.
He deposits the rest of the offensive bread into the garbage. More laughter.
I open a new loaf. There is once again toast.