The Patty Melt Incident

I probably shouldn't even talk about this, but it was a toss up between this and the many theories surrounding Lloyd Austin's disappearance. The one about medical complications due to transitioning is my favorite so far.

I'd been thinking of making patty melts for a couple of days. I had half a white onion in the crisper that I would slice and grill up in butter, a pound of ground beef thawing in the fridge and some pumpernickel (dark rye) bread. I told my husband I was going to make them once we ate up the current leftovers.

Yesterday, when it was time to start making them, my husband said, “Put chili on mine.”

What?!

“Chili does not go on a patty melt,” I told him. “Do you know what a patty melt is?”

His argument was that it was like a chili dog or chili burger. My counter argument was, no, it is not. It started to escalate into an actual fight, until I told him I would put chili on his and didn't want to talk about it anymore. Despite possible evidence to the contrary, this is not Wendy's Bar & Grill and the fact that I had to add a second pan to the stove top pissed me off to no end.

I proceeded to make the most beautiful patty melts in the world. I then literally destroyed one with the addition of a ladle full of chili from a can.

After almost 10 years of marriage, you would think he would know better, but then he asked, “Did you mean to put two pieces of bread on it?”

“It's a patty melt. It's supposed to have two pieces of bread.”

“If I'd known this was a cheeseburger, I would have made it with just one slice of bread.”

I kept my mouth shut to keep the nuclear Bitch Level 10 event going off inside my head from leaking out into the real world.

Then I ate the best tasting patty melt I've had in my life. I actually felt sorry for him, but he did ask for it (insisted).

I'm totally ready for the end of the world.

Take care out there.