Swiss Revenge

Do you remember the “horses head in the bed” scene in, The Godfather?

The Corleone family did this to send a message.

Last week, I needed to send a similar message.

We were vacationing with two other couples and unfortunately, one of the couples was not getting along.

No need to name names. 

All you need to know is I was right and Steve was wrong.

We had just wrapped up a not so friendly game of Skip-Bo, when Steve thought it would be a great idea to make a joke at my expense.

After he delivered the punch line, there was a long, awkward silence.

I didn’t say anything, but I’m pretty sure a wee bit of fire shot from my eyes.

Our friend, Dale, patted Steve on the shoulder. “Too soon, Buddy. Too soon.”

“I’m sorry, hon, I was just kidding…” Steve said to me.

Too late, Buddy. Too late.

That’s when Julie, Lisa, and I headed into the kitchen to make the guys grilled cheese sandwiches.

Julie began grilling the bread. Lisa chopped the tomatoes. 

I was supposed to be slicing avocado, but instead I was contemplating how I would exact my revenge.

“Are you okay?” Lisa asked.

Why? Is the sight of me holding a large knife, with fire shooting from my eyes concerning?

Julie laid out the cheese. “We have cheddar, havarti, brie, and swiss.”

I smiled a sinister smile, drumming my fingers on the countertop. 

I knew exactly how I would take care of business.

It’s no secret that some cheeses are far more desirable than others.

Cheddar – Better! 

Havarti – It’s a Party! 

Brie – Yipee! 

But Swiss…

It’s a Miss!

Julie began making Steve’s sandwich, placing the small squares of all the cheese on the bread.

I immediately began removing them.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

I smiled diabolically. “Let’s make his sandwich ALL SWISS!”

“Yuck!” Julie said. “That’s going to taste disgusting.”

Exactly!

Lisa gave me a nod and helped me pile the swiss high onto his bread.

Did I mention Lisa is Italian?

Julie, however, is not Italian. She’s whatever the nicest nationality is.

Swiss?

“Steve’s going to think I made his sandwich,” Julie said, her brows furrowed at such an evil plot.

“Fine,” I said. “He can have one piece of cheddar.”

I placed the teensiest, tiniest piece of cheddar amidst the mountain of swiss.

Then Lisa and I smiled at each other knowingly.

Revenge is a dish best served with swiss.

(Don Corleone may have actually said, “served cold,” but the “swiss” was implied.)

I didn’t stop there.

Once Julie handed me his cooked sandwich, I pulled apart the bread and began adding tomatoes.

But not the thick, juicy center slices. The sad, dry ends that had stem remnants on them.

You think butt ends of the bread are bad, try butt ends of the tomato!

After that, I examined the avocados, looking for the mushiest, stringiest parts. 

Sadly, this avocado was a beaut.

I considered not giving Steve any, but then I decided to give him one small piece. That way, when it was gone, he would be left coveting the avocado oozing out of his friends’ delicious swiss-less sandwiches.

I laughed maniacally, drunk with revenge.

There was no telling what I’d do next.

Except I’ll tell you.

I placed his dinner in front of him. “Enjoy!”

When he picked the sandwich, gobs of gooey swiss seeped out the sides. He eyed it suspiciously. “There’s no arsenic in here, is there?” 

Buddy, you’re going to wish there was arsenic.

“Nope,” I said, smiling. “Just a whole lot of cheese.” 

“Well, it looks great,” he said to me.

Then he turned to Julie. “Thank you for making this.”

“Oh, I didn’t really do that much…” Julie trailed off, clearly trying to distance herself from the crime.

But it was too late for Julie. She had swiss on her hands, just like the rest of us.

Steve took his first bite as we waited in silence.

When he finally swallowed, he smiled and said. “Delicious!” 

You’ve got to be kidding me!

But he wasn’t!

He was like Mikey, he really liked it!

Every glob of gross cheese, every dry tomato butt. He just kept eating and smiling.

When he finished, he remarked, “That hit the spot!”

I hung my head.

Of all the revenge dinners I’d ever made, this was the most disappointing.

So was the revenge breakfast I cooked him the next morning.

(I made him an omelette he couldn’t refuse.)

Two days later, when Steve and I had made-up, I confessed my crimes.

“I’m sorry for all the swiss cheese,” I said

“Honestly, I didn’t really have a problem with it,” he said.

“Are you serious?” I asked. 

He smiled. “I like swiss cheese.”

What sort of sicko was I married to?