by Aubry Rose

Gosh do I love the Haben’s ridiculous arguments. They are annoying and I want to pinch my husband’s booty in the midst of them, but you know you’re involved in a worthless argument when you can’t keep a straight face.

Hamburger Fingers took place at senior citizens’ favorite place to drink morning coffee: McDonald’s. We had just left an appointment with a nutritionist because I’ve been struggling majorly with unintentional weight loss. A woman’s dream come true, right? NOPE. I am the 1% who actually wants to gain weight. Maybe I will one day write on this epic journey I am unwillingly being taken on, aaaand maybe I won’t.

Anywho, my husband has been trying to fatten me up left and right, as has my family. It’s very cute. My sister pours food on my plate like she is a farmer trying to beef up her cattle. Hyuk hyuk. Puns. So after the meeting with the nutritionist, Operation Weight Gain went into full effect. Although not endorsed in the slightest by my doctor or really by me, Max enouraged us to stop at the Unhealthiest Place on the Planet. What purgatory for him! We entered the dungeon of death, and:

Cue the scene

My dear husband gets two burgers and I get one. I give him the side eye. The young cashier boy makes a mental note – never get married. We sit down, and I go to town on our shared order of french fries while he works on burger number one.

It is here where our pleasant McDonald’s visit starts to turn sour.

“Why don’t you slow down,” he says, as he begins to hoard fries on his side of the tray.
“I don’t want you to get sick,” he says.

I go back to my McChicken, staring hard at him as he piles fries onto his burger. Never have I seen him pull such a fantastic and indignant move.

At this point our annoyance towards each other slowly begins to grow. Oh woe to the poor retired couple about to witness a bloodbath.

I try to tell him something. He ignores me. I try again. He ignores me a second time.

“Sorry – I didn’t hear you,” he says.

Annoyance meter jumps up 20%.

I finish my chicken sandwich. He is already knee deep into his final and most prized possession of a burger. I take note of how much is left and am slightly offended he is almost done and hasn’t offered me any.

I make a game plan.

Right about now, I begin to see the fear written on his face. The whites of his eyes were showing like a horse about to spook – STAY AWAY FROM MY SECOND BURGER. Knowing how much of a “just one bite” moocher I can be, he recommends I get one for myself.

“No thanks,” I say, “I am not hungry enough for a whole one.
Instead… I just want one bite of yours.”

I grasp his burger with my meaty paws. He stares at me, his hands clenched into fists. I take one teeny bite, then two. I go for a third teeny bite for good measure (and revenge) but am rudely interrupted.

Max abruptly stands up. “I’m going to get another burger!” he declares. “No!” I shout, frantically thinking about all that fake cheese clogging his arteries. “You don’t need one! Take your burger back, I only took one collectively-normal-sized bite!”

“No!” Max declares. “Eat it! You were going to finish it anyway! I’m getting another one!”

“Fine,” I say, settling back into my chair to watch my victory slowly unfold. Go get one, if you absolutely need it so much.”

Max hesitates, caught in my impeccably-placed trap. Knowing he just ate two burgers and a sizeable amount of fries, he shrinks back in defeat, nostrils flaring in the wind created by our angry breaths.

I get up to go to the bathroom. “Meet you at the car,” I huff.

By now, we are both angry laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. You know, that super annoying thing where you’re actually super mad but you can’t stop laughing? The guffaws continue as we meet back up outside, resolving our ridiculous argument with a hug. It was hilarious. I swear.

… I guess you had to be there.

Until next time, Tuna Fingers.