care to share this sandwich?

Share this sandwich with me, won’t you? You will not? That’s how it’s to be, then? Your first utterance is one of negativity – one of condemnation? I shan’t stand for such abuse, mon amie. I shan’t. It’s just a sandwich. Were you to have asked of the sandwich’s contents, and then made your decision…well, that would have been another matter entirely. Perhaps upon learning that gentle folds of lean corned beef were awaiting your palate – perhaps that would have swayed your once-unswayable mind. Would the juxtapositional juggernaut of a spicy brown mustard consorting with a mild provolone have you whistling a more open-minded tune? Yes, I thought so.

Were you to have queried me as to the breading that gently cradled the sandwich contents to its bosom, only to then remind me of your gluten allergies and that most unpleasant trip to the 24-hour clinic back in 2004, I would have taken your rejection in stride. But this… as you yourself have been fond of saying, this aggression…will not stand.

I ask you, what if Bob Barker exclaimed “I do not care for game shows” before he had ever felt the rush of Truth or Consequences? What if Chuck Norris had purported to detest the roundhouse before lifting his leg before the camera? The world would be worse off indeed.

What’s that? No. Absolutely not. It is too late.

No - too late I say. And those crocodile tears will get you nowhere my friend. No-where.

Hmm? I’m throwing it away… Yes, I may be “cutting off my nose to spite my face”, but I do not want it, and it does not want your pity.

There. In the garbage it goes. I thought I saw it land on top of your ability to be open-minded.

And don’t do that. That’s so unbecoming…and an exercise in futility, to boot. You won’t be able to rescue it: I made sure to spill the contents of the sandwich among the refuse to make in unsalvageable.

Yes - yes I am that vindictive…but you must have known that…after all you married me.

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