A Feast Fit For A J-Fed

I wanted J-Fed’s first night home to be special, and boy was it one to remember.

As he strolled through the door like the king of the hill, I had dinner on the table precisely at 7 p.m. – just like a dutiful wife. I wanted everything to be picture perfect. I even added some ambiance by adding some candlelight.

Now you must be thinking, “Kiki, have you lost your mind?” My answer, “yes, I most certainly have.”

I served him filet mignon in a soft tortilla stuffed with brown rice and green onions. He savored each and every bite, as I knew he would. There would be no more frozen burritos for J-Fed. Oh no, the king had once again assumed his throne.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and were they ever right.

At 3:30 a.m., my well-executed plan went into action. He stirred in the bed and a wicked smile crossed my face. The lights went on, and it was party time. He clutched his chest and jumped out of bed like someone had lit a match under him. I hadn’t seen J-Fed move so fast since Wal-Mart had a sale on Fraps and Newports.

“Argggggggggghhhhhhhhh ^&(. &*))) Where’s the TUMS?” he shouted painfully. “TUMS.”

Poor J-Fed. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, especially one who knew how to prepare every heartburn-eliciting meal in the book. I rolled over and passed him the almost empty bottle of TUMS. It was the least I could do. Really.

As J-Fed moaned and groaned in agony throughout the remainder of the night, I felt a sense of vindication for his pissing party in my armoire.

Like they say, revenge is best served cold… in soft tacos… with extra chili powder… hidden by candlelight…