SPLIT A SUB?

I ask my husband, “Want to split a sub?” This is a simple question. We’re at the counter. The guy asks, “The usual?” The girl waiting on us is new. She neatly cuts the sub in half and lays the halves side by side. Then the chaos starts.

George’s voice is quiet because of the Parkinson’s, so I order for him. “Mayo on that one. No, not that one, the other one.”

“No, I don’t want mayo.”

“You did last time.”

“Don’t give me any lettuce.”

“I know that much.”

(To the girl) “Put just a smidgen of mustard on that one. No, that one.”

(George to me) “I just want the usual Italian sub with everything that goes on it except lettuce.”

“You have to tell them what to put on it, not what to take off.”

“Just tell them to leave off the lettuce.”

(Me, exasperated) “Do you want mustard?”

The girl behind the counter is getting distressed. George and I are, too, but somehow we end up with a close proximity to what we want.

I’m thinking - this is a snapshot of our marriage. We’re alike on the basics and like night and day on the garnishes, but it usually turns out OK. Or a close proximity to OK.