Last night, like every Friday night, Mal and I closed down Cracker Barrel together. As usual, we'd had a few small skirmishes throughout the night - this time started by Mal who threw a wad a paper at me AND then threw ice down the front of my shirt within just a few minutes of starting our shift.
Naturally I did not let that go unchallenged. = )
However, we called a truce after about an hour and all was peaceful.
Until...
We took our dinner break around 10 pm. I can't remember how it started because we enjoy conflict so much that there is rarely a noticeable break but somehow Mal said something minor that called for a small show of force and so I grabbed a spoonful of tartar sauce and aimed it at him.
He grabbed the bowl of tartar sauce and aimed right back.
I backed down. I was unequipped for that particular battle. One does not aim a peashooter at someone firing a bazooka.
However, Mal took the opportunity to say "You never think through anything" to me at that moment and I will freely admit that I saw red.
I grabbed my glass of ice but he grabbed my hands and starting talking fast, trying to get out of what was coming. I grabbed his full glass of Sprite and he started begging. Clearly he knew he'd pushed me too far. He grabbed my hands again so I let go of the glass and snatched the only weapon left to me...my fork on which was impaled a cooked carrot.
I know what you're thinking.
As far as weapons go, a cooked carrot is about as threatening as a glob of baby food or a styrofoam peanut.
I didn't care. Mal had pushed me to my limit. I flicked my wrist and hurled that cooked carrot straight at him.
Now, when this particular altercation started, Mal was eating a bite of salad. Things escalated so quickly, he hadn't had a chance to finish chewing.
My cooked carrot missile soared through the air and bounced off his Adam's apple, causing Mal to instantly begin choking on his half-chewed piece of lettuce.
It took him a while to regain his composure.
Turns out anything can be an effective weapon - it's all in the wrist.