Alright, Chick-fil-a… If your ultimate goal in creating the creamy goodness that is Chick-fil-a sauce was to ruin relationships, welp, you dunnit.
That’s right, it’s YOUR fault my boyfriend won’t speak to me. He told me we needed some time apart because he was absolutely in shock at my behavior.
Let me rewind so you know how we got to this point:
‘Twas early on a Saturday morning and I was craving Chicken Minis.
My ever-so-handsome and understanding boyfriend was happy to oblige, as he too loves Chicken Minis.
You had a line around the store, as usual. Can’t complain, we’re all here for the same thing… Or so I thought.
You see, I’ve developed a love for your Chick-fil-a sauce. I first tried it with nuggets, then waffle fries and soon, I dipped a Chicken Mini into the sweet and spicy flavorful sauce. I’ve developed an addiction, I now realize. I won’t go anywhere else for nuggets, or chicken of any kind, really. Because honestly, what is Chicken without Chick-fil-a sauce?
I wasn’t even bothered when you changed your barbeque sauce, to be honest, I didn’t even know you had barbeque sauce.
Back to my story: My sweetie pulled through the drive through and made our orders, two orders of chicken minis, the little hashbrowns and a couple of black coffees – YUM.
It had never occurred to me that my uncultured boyfriend wouldn’t think to ask the girl at the window for Chick-fil-a sauce. Because – really – who goes to Chick-fil-a and doesn’t get their sauce?
We pulled out of the window and I reach in the bag for a hashbrown and – wait, what? Hold on – there’s no Chick-fil-a sauce in here! Turn around, they forgot our sauce!
“No,” he said, “I’m going to be late for work.”
“Please,” I begged, “I can’t eat breakfast without it.”
“You should’ve spoken up,” he reasoned, “They asked us twice.”
“I DID NOT HEAR THAT!” I screamed, the anger setting in.
“OK, you’re gonna have to calm down,” he kept driving away.
“I’m sick, I’m going to be sick,” tears filled my eyes.
“It’s just sauce, we have barbeque at the house,” he replied, not even realizing what he just said.
“I reached for the steering wheel and yanked it towards Chick-fil-a, the truck fishtailed and rolled over a concrete barrier. I grabbed the bag of smushed Minis and ran, red-faced towards Chick-fil-a.
I sprinted to the counter
“Miss, are you alright?”
“I need 2 packages of Chick-fil-a sauce, please and thank you.” Tears stained my face.
“My pleasure…” replied a confused cashier, as he handed me my sauce.
I ran back to the truck, lying on its side. Surrounded by police officers, he pointed at me.
“There she is, sir,” his voice shook, “She’s crazy, she’s really crazy.”
I ate my Chicken Minis in the back of a police car and I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, but most importantly, I got my sauce.