Once when Andrew and I were going to meet up for lunch, I asked him to pick me up a Subway sandwich.
"What kind do you want?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't care. You know what I like."
He brought my sandwich and it was seriously the best sandwich I've ever had at Subway, bar none.
The next day I had him take me to Subway again because I wanted the exact same sandwich. Andrew tried to tell me everything that was in it.
"Could you just order for me?" I asked.
He frowned. He likes strong women, so he gets annoyed whenever I'm too dependent. "No, I'm not going to order for you. You're not a kid."
"Come on, I'm never going to remember everything you just said."
"It's not that hard...."
"Fine, I'll do it."
I marched to the counter and looked at the choices. I couldn't even remember what kind of bread to get.
"Hi," I told the server, "I'd like chicken teriyaki on... um..."
I looked over my shoulder to Andrew. He rolled his eyes. "Honey wheat."
"That's right, honey wheat. And I want lettuce, and... um..." I looked to Andrew again.
"Yes, I want cucumber."
"And red onions."
"And I want red onions. Swiss cheese, too."
"You don't want Swiss," he said, "You want Provolone."
"I want Provolone."
While the lady put together the sandwich, she asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I don't like soda, but I thought Andrew might want some, so I looked back at him again.
"Mountain Dew," he said.
"I would like a Mountain Dew."
The woman got a cup for the soda. Before wrapping up the sandwich, she said, "Is there anything else?"
"Nope," I said, "that's everything."
She looked to my husband and waited for him to answer.
As she waited for Andrew's approval, I realized how this scene must look to outsiders; like my husband was so controlling, he told me what sandwich I had to eat.
I quickly explained to her the situation. She looked relieved.