â€œHey, how many sandwiches do you want?â€ I yelled, being too lazy to actually walk into the room and ask.
The teenager had just come home from work, it was shortly after 8 p.m. and the husband had just paused the movie we were watching so I could whip up a BLT for the kid. We had eaten earlier, and Matt, who is 18 now, had gotten all sad-faced when I had mentioned earlier I was making BLT sandwiches for supper.
â€œI have to work from 5 to 8,â€ he said, all bummed out over missing a favorite meal.
â€œIâ€™ll save stuff and make some for you when you get home,â€ I replied.
â€œDad will eat all the bacon,â€ Matt protested.
â€œI probably will,â€ Eric agreed from the living room doorway.
â€œIâ€™ll hide some,â€ I promised.
So I did.
Bacon is a hot commodity in our house, but I distracted Eric by adding bean with bacon soup to the BLT menu. Remember the whole â€œmore cowbell!â€ thing? In my house, we go with â€œmore bacon!â€ instead.
When I asked Matt how many sandwiches he wanted, I was expecting him to choose either one, two or, if he was really hungry, three. I did not expect his answer.
â€œOne and a half.â€
Is nothing ever easy with these people?
â€œItâ€™s a BLT,â€ I replied. â€œIt comes in wholes, not halves. You can have one or two.â€
â€œBut I want one and a half,â€ he said, launching into an explanation about being too hungry for just one, but not hungry enough for two. Seriously, thatâ€™s the short version. There was a long version.
Eric stood there listening impatiently.
â€œIf I eat his other half, can we go back to watching the movie yet tonight?â€ he asked.
Thatâ€™s my husband. Heâ€™s handy with both problem solving skills and eating leftover sandwich halves.