.spaghetti doesn't go there.

So, we wake up yesterday morning, and I tell C I'm going to make us some eggs for breakfast. This, in itself, should have been an omen for disaster, given that in our entire dating career, I have made eggs that he enjoyed once. Yes, literally, once. This, from a girl who eats eggs at least once a week, and more often twice or three times. I get out the eggs, but the kitchen is so full of dirty dishes (he has a very small dishwasher, and no sense of consolidating dishes while cooking - I guess I should be happy that he cooks at all, right?) that I can't find anywhere to put the egg carton down. I unload the dishwasher, load the dishwasher (C plays Call of Duty) and call him over to clean out the strainer, which after a few reminders, he gets up to do.

I'm cooking away the eggs, minding my own business, when I hear a very loud swear word behind me. I turn around to see C clutching his hand, screaming, "I'M NEVER CLEANING THE PASTA STRAINER AGAIN! NEVER! WHY DID YOU WANT ME TO DO IT SO BAD?! (he certainly wasn't an English major) I HATE THE PASTA STRAINER!"

First, I clarify, "You are definitely going to clean the pasta strainer again," and then I look at his hand. C has somehow managed to get an actual shard of angel hair pasta stabbed up underneath his fingernail, cruel and unusual punishment, bamboo shoots style.

It's today, and his finger still has this weird hole in it (we think we got all the pasta out) but I think the more important question still stands: does he have a legitimate claim to never cleaning the pasta strainer again?