Conundrum

My wife and I were at a Chick-Fil-A drive through window. We received our food, we were given our condiments, and we proceeded to drive over to a parking lot and begin eating. With my jaws extended and eyes fixed on the impending culinary delight my wife made a comment. As a matter of fact, here is my undoubtedly bias account of the exchange that delayed my much anticipated poultry feast:

Wife: This sucks!

Me: What?

Wife: I'm not happy with the amount of Ketchup I was given.

Me: Why didn't you just specify the amount of packets you wanted? (Good question right?)

Wife: Well...I don't like to admit the amount of ketchup I like to use.

***Insert Time To Process This Statement Here***

Me: Where the fuck's the logic in that?

Wife: Shut Up!

(I pause, think, and say...)

Me: It seems to me my friend, you have come to a crossroads.  You can either man the fuck up and tell that stupid teenager what you want (which seems to me to be the most logical option) or you can let your self-conscience tendencies imprison you to a life of recession sized condiment portions. 

***Thinks about it and begins to eat***

Me: Seriously? Why?

She did respond, but it was hard to decipher through a full mouth of chicken and if she was going to eat now, I wasn't about to waste my precious time arguing when I could be helping those beloved cows from the billboard commercials on their tireless crusade to persuade the humanoids to murder and eat chickens instead of cows.  I really do love those cows. 

--BK