Honey-soy shrimp

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Posted: Friday, March 29, 2019 6:15 am

I avoid leaving town as much as possible but eventually my out-of-town list (like supplies for the pets and jeans for the boy) adds up. The list had reached dire proportions when I unwillingly set out for Fargo early last Saturday.

My kiddo asked me to grab French bread and deli meat, so I texted the hubby that I’d get him some ham and we’d do sandwiches for lunch.

“I’ll take a large ham and cheese from Grand Junction,” the hubby replied several minutes later.

Standing at the checkout with my bread and deli meat, I typed, “Or … sammiches!”

“Nah. Fries with the ham and cheese, please,” the hubby said.

The hubby is more stubborn than I am, but my temper comes to a boil faster. I just wanted to go home; the hubby just wanted his sandwich. “You’re a bad man,” I texted.

I was 50 blocks from the sandwich shop, so I had plenty of time to fume. And wait for the place to open. And the grill to heat up. In fact, it was 40 minutes before I received the hubby’s order. That’s a lot of stewing.

“Just know if I get in an accident that I died a bitter, unhappy, starving woman,” I texted the hubby while I waited. Hell hath no fury like a passive-aggressive woman.

My good-natured hubby was confused. He does this sort of thing for me all the time, so he didn’t understand why I was crabby. But I hadn’t eaten breakfast and I’d been surrounded by hordes of people all morning. I wasn’t in my happy place to begin with.

And I couldn’t get over the fact that I had sandwich fixings in my car. It wasn’t that the hubby was craving fried chicken or an enchilada platter. No, I went 50 blocks out of my way to bring him a DIFFERENT ham sandwich.

I was in a full-on pout when I got home. The hubby unloaded my car and poured me a glass of Dr. Pepper. “I don’t want this Dr. Pepper,” I snapped. “I want you to drive to Dilworth and get me DIFFERENT Dr. Pepper.” I’m very mature.

And I felt miraculously better after I ate my sandwich. To apologize, I made the hubby some shrimp for supper, because nothing says “I’m sorry” more than cooking a meal only one of you likes (I don’t eat seafood).

“You know, the sauce on this shrimp would be just as good on chicken,” the hubby said. I’m pretty sure that’s stubborn-hubby speak for “All is forgiven.”

But ham sandwiches were not on the menu this week.

For the recipe, see the Banner's online or print edition.

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