The phone rang, jolting Sarah from her afternoon gardening. It was Mark, her husband, his voice laced with a frantic edge. “Honey, listen, I’ve invited Mr. Henderson, my boss, over for dinner. He’s… he’s in the car, five minutes away, and he’s starving!” Sarah’s jaw dropped. Dinner? Now? With the demanding Mr. Henderson? She barely had time to change, let alone conjure a meal worthy of his discerning palate. “Mark, are you serious? Five minutes? I can’t possibly prepare anything decent in that timeframe!” she protested, visions of hastily scrambled eggs dancing in her head. “Just make that roast you did a couple of weeks ago, the one Mr. Henderson raved about at the office!” Mark pleaded, oblivious to the sheer impossibility of his request. That roast, a slow-cooked masterpiece of seasoned beef and tender vegetables, had taken hours to perfect.
Sarah explained the logistical nightmare, the hours of marinating and slow roasting required. “They can wait at least an hour, right? I can throw something together, but it won’t be the roast,” she offered, hoping for a sliver of understanding. But Mark, ever the people-pleaser, balked. “An hour is too long! He’s really hungry. Just… just do it faster.” A spark ignited within Sarah. Alright, she thought, if he wanted fast, she’d give him fast.
As the car pulled into the driveway, Sarah plastered on a smile, ushering Mark and Mr. Henderson into the dining room. The table was set, the ambiance deceptively charming. Mark, beaming with pride, gestured towards the centerpiece: a beautifully arranged platter adorned with sliced roast beef, roasted potatoes, and glazed carrots. Mr. Henderson, a portly man with a perpetually critical expression, settled into his chair, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the food.
The silence was broken only by the clinking of silverware as Mr. Henderson took his first bite. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Mark, oblivious to the impending disaster, leaned in expectantly. “So, Mr. Henderson, how is it? Just as good as you remembered, right?”
Sarah watched, a strange mix of anxiety and satisfaction swirling within her. The roast, of course, was the very same one she had prepared two weeks prior. After their original dinner, she had carefully wrapped the leftovers and stored them in the refrigerator, intending to eventually toss them out. But Mark’s sudden, impossible demand had given her a wicked idea. She microwaved it on high for a few minutes, hoping the heat would mask the fact that it was days old.
Mr. Henderson swallowed, his face slowly turning a shade of green. “It’s… interesting,” he managed, his voice strained. “A very… unique flavor.” Mark, sensing something was amiss, grabbed a slice of the roast himself. His eyes widened in horror as the stale, slightly sour taste assaulted his palate. He knew, in that instant, that Sarah had exacted her revenge. The color drained from his face, and he looked at Sarah with a mixture of fear and disbelief. The dinner ended abruptly, with Mr. Henderson excusing himself due to a sudden “stomach ailment.” As the door slammed shut, Sarah turned to Mark, her eyes blazing. “Next time,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “you’ll think twice before issuing impossible demands.”
