The Purloined Mayo

I have heard that while men can be quite capable in many ways, it has been scientifically proven that the man who can find the mayonnaise in the fridge has not yet been born, so I decided to do an experiment while I was making lunch. I was feeling a bit twiggy, having had oral surgery last week and not yet able to eat normal food, so while I was making some dull soup for me, he had requested a sandwich. Maybe that tweaked my spite nerve.

“Rochi, could you get me some green onions from the garden?”

Success! OK, he’s listening. My hopes kindled.

“Could you get the mayo for me, please?” I asked, with as much innocence as I could muster.

“Japanese or American?” he asked. My hopes rose.

“It’s your sandwich, so your choice,” I said, rather diplomatically.

And then I waited. And waited.

He searched high.

He searched low.

But nary a jar of mayonnaise, oriental or occidental, could he procure.

With renewed faith in science, I reached for the fateful jar, cleverly hidden in plain sight in the door of the fridge, where it has been kept since time immemorial.

I promise not to gloat.

Well, maybe a little.

3 thoughts on “The Purloined Mayo

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