Is Fern Actually Right?

I have a dilemma. No. It's not about my fashion sense as some have been rude enough to question. 

It's about my man. I'd write Dear Abby but she's been replaced by someone else. Only the real Abby could tackle this one. 

Last week I served Bob something that was just not up to my usual high standards. Now. I have a million excuses. Goodness, I've been cleaning up my garden and nursing him back to health for a month of Sundays. 

(Do you know what that even means? I don't. I sure hope I used it correctly or I'm going to be hearing about it for who knows how long. "Blogging responsibility, putting one's best foot forward, using the tools available to me to make sure I'm doing just that....blah, blah, blah!") 

Anyway. Since I made a meal that needed just a touch more finesse, polish and wow factor, Bob has been telling this awful joke and I know it's aimed at me!

Here's his joke. "A guy goes into a diner. The waitress asks if he wants his usual. He replies, yes, weak coffee, runny eggs, burnt toast and chewy bacon. 'Charlie,' she says, 'I can't send the order in like that.' He says, oh, I thought that's how you did order it because that is the usual I've had every day this week." 

Then he laughs and laughs. 

Fern says he's an insensitive lug and I should dump him like a sack of potatoes.