“Tell me again, why are we butchering chickens in our tiny kitchen?”

“Grrrrrr!! Because the farm only slaughters and de-feathers the chickens.”

“Then why didn’t you just walk away? Why purchase them if you wanted the chickens cleaned and cut up?”

“OMG! Weren’t you listening? I’d already driven forty five minutes to get there; spent thirty minutes waiting to talk to the farm hands; picked out my chickens; and waited for them to get the chickens ready. I didn’t want all that time and effort to go to waste!”

“I get all that. But now you’ve spent over three hours butchering the chickens with a regular kitchen knife. You know butchers actually have tools? Cleavers and such?”

“Yes, yessssss, I know! Jesus, if you’re not gonna help, can you just shut the fuck up?”

“Honestly this all seems a bit penny wise, pound foolish to me. You bought the chickens for how much again?”

“£50.”

“Doing the quick math, you’ve spent over £500 in time, and resources. You’ve destroyed three knives, including the chef knife I got you for Christmas, which cost £300 by the way.”

“Marlene, I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna lose my shit and haul chicken guts at you!”

“I’m just saying, you’ve spent over ten times what it would have cost you to just buy the same chicken bits at the store.”

“Fine! You get a minute to do a victory lap. Bask in your correctness. After which I don’t want to hear a word from you about this again. Also, are you from like the medieval times? What the hell is: penny wise, pound foolish? Seriously, sometimes I feel like I’m dating an ancient being living in the body of a modern woman.”