Stupid Steak

Yesterday at work, Jefferson and I decided we wanted steak and potatoes for dinner (however we couldn't decide on the potatoes. Jefferson wanted potato salad, which to me is a total summer dish to be eaten with hot dogs and chips, and I wanted mashed potatoes, a Belknap staple. He kept teasing me and saying that I'm too picky, but mashed potatoes won out.) So, while Jefferson was out doing deliveries to Walmarts, he picked up some steaks and bar-b-que sauce. He put them in baggies and left them in the frigde at work, reminding me before he left for school that I needed to take them home.

"Right. On it," I answered. Less than ten minutes after pulling out of the parking lot, he calls my cell.
"Don't forget the steaks," he said. "I want you to write it down on a sticky note. Those exact words, got it?"
"Yep."
"Good, now hand the phone to Amy."
"Okay...?" Amy is my co-worker who just happens to share an office (really a closet) with me.

I strained to hear what he was talking to her about, but could only catch her end of the conversation.
"A-huh, sure. Hey Gen, let me see that notepad you wrote on...thanks. Yep, it says right here, 'Don't Forget the Steaks.' A-huh, sure. He wants to talk to you again."

Right. The steaks. Well, guess who got all the way home, looked over to the passenger's side and saw a half-empty bottle of bar-b-q sauce and a bunch of plastic bags and thought, "oh crap." I called Jefferson and let him know that he would have to swing into work on his way home from UVU and pick up the steaks that I left in the fridge.

Yep, you guessed it. I have not heard the end of that one.