Heidi's Hell Hole

Bryan is a good, nay GREAT cook. I have yet to find a dish that he has made me that I didn't love. As a matter of fact, he told his friend last night, "If it's good, Heidi will let you  know. Also, if it sucks, she'll let you know that, too."

It seems, however, that I am not the only one who appreciates his culinary skills. Most of my lunches are leftovers from the previous dinner. However, half the time I am not eating for one, I am eating for two. My deliver driver, DB, will often eat half my lunch. Sometimes he'll eat his lunch AND my entire lunch. "You had a ton in there!"

Last night, Bryan and his friend made Southern BBQ babyback ribs with mashes potatoes, gravy, and corn. Four of my favorite foods, just waiting for me to nuke 'em and devour them. DB noticed my ribs and made the comment, "SWEET, HEIDI BROUGHT RIBS!" Like it's somehow a picnic lunch I packed just for him.
 
I responded with my natural grace, "DB, if you so much as breathe on those ribs, you'll be castrated with an company issue spork. In fact, touch my lunch ever again, and I'll kill you. And you can take that to HR." EXACT WORDS, FOLKS.

DB, to his credit, didn't touch my ooey-gooey goody ribs. Noooo, he did not. My manager, Gerald, took one. I came back from getting a soda and there's a forlorn rib on my plate, and a reddish mess where its companion once lay. He said I had two, and since it was on my desk unattended, he thought they were for everyone. DUDE, WTH?!

Since eating out every day is not fiscally an option, I contemplated telling everyone I spit in my lunch. But I somehow doubt that will stop things. Nor is telling Bryan to stop cooking because, lets face it, a girls gotta eat. OH! I KNOW! Innernets, I am so smart, y'all. I'll post a sign saying , "ONE OF THESE HAS THE H1N1 VIRUS. DO YOU KNOW WHICH ONE IT IS?"

I'm s'glad I'm klassee and edumacated.