Don’t You Just Hate it When . . .

I HATE it when . . .

. . . graham crackers don’t break on the perforated line?

. . . you order your steak, burger, salmon, etc. “well done” and when it arrives at the table, it’s burnt beyond recognition? Well-done does not need to equate to desiccated.  (Read my take on well-done food HERE)

. . . you bite into a scallop and you taste more grit than scallop?

. . . people double dip?

. . . someone offers you a malted milk ball, tell you it’s the real deal chocolate, but then you bite into that coveted malted milk ball only to discover it’s covered in carob?

. . . you order a deli sandwich that comes with a pickle spear on the side, yet the pickle isn’t separated from the bread with protective paper and you end up with soggy pickle juice infused bread?

. . . you order a deli sandwich and discover that it contains enough meat to feed a family of four? I’m all for getting my money’s worth, but there’s a reason one-third of Americans are overweight. Do we really need a pound of ham or turkey on one sandwich?

. . . someone grabs a salt shaker and begins furiously ‘seasoning’ their food before they’ve even tasted it?

. . . spicy food is too spicy and not only does your nose run but so does your eyes?

. . . asparagus is cooked so long that it’s rendered as limp as, well, let’s just call it flaccid…

. . . you’re in the middle of eating an appetizer at a restaurant and the waiter shows up with your entrée?

. . . soda has completely lost its fizzle?

. . . you order a piece of fish that is supposedly filleted yet with every bite you’re being stabbed in the gums with bones?

. . . Rachel Ray says “EVOO”? Why can’t she just come out of the mouth with extra virgin olive oil like normal people?

. . . your cereal can’t pass the crunch test after sitting in a bowl of milk for a paltry thirty seconds?

. . . the 5’0” woman in the grocery store naturally expects you to reach up and grab whatever she wants from the top shelf because you stand 5’8”?

. . . a waiter or waitress says “I personally like the blah blah blah.”? Honestly, I really don’t care what you like. Your taste buds and my taste buds aren’t joined at the hip so there’s no affiliation there whatsoever. I think I’ll let my palate do the talking, thank you very much.

. . . you attempt to butter a slice of bread and that little pat of butter rips and tears through the bread like Godzilla terrorizing the city?

. . . you bite into a cookie and it’s stale?

. . . you bite into a potato chip and it’s stale?

. . . you bite into a—well you get the point—you bite into anything that’s supposed to have some sort of crackle to it and it doesn’t. That’s just wrong.