Actually, I didn’t complain. The girl that put my sandwich together did so very carefully and deliberately, so she wasn’t incompetent or lazy…and the owner wasn’t there. I may just end up complaining with my feet.
The way that I look at it, if I ask thusly:
Kassee,
Please punch your boyfriend for me, as a physical and metaphorical protest against inept sandwich makers. Thanks.
You now have a right (no, a responsibility!) to smite your boyfriend. If I were you, I would save it up for just such an occasion where the smite would be delivered with a little extra vigor…
And if he whines and complains, then I can deal with the blame. Just let him know that I like whining and complaining less than inferior sandwiches.
I thought about you today…I was at a restaurant (get that? a restaurant, mind you!) and ordered a turkey reuben sandwich…and it came with TWO slices of ROAST BEEF. Aaauuggghh!
I wanted to punch somebody, and then figured that you might be willing to punch your boyfriend for me.
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