“This chunky soup is cold, Amy. My tongue is lucky not be frozen to the spoon,” says Greg with a surprisingly sharp tongue considering the circumstances.
Amy simply picks up the bowl and smiles at Greg. She walks towards the microwave until Greg turns around and relaxes before hurling the ceramic bowl filled with the cold dish at the back of his head.
“What the hell? What was that for?”
“For complaining. That wasn’t soup…it was egg salad.”