The Great "Leftovers Debate"

It was a Wednesday evening when the fateful debate began. The kind of debate that would go down in history as the “Great Leftovers Dispute” — a debate so intense that it had the power to shake the very foundation of a 10-year marriage.

The night started off innocently enough. Ryan and Lisa had just returned home after a long day of work, the only thing on their minds being the pizza they’d ordered earlier. The delivery man had left the box on the kitchen counter, and the tantalizing aroma of cheese, pepperoni, and a questionable but delightful amount of olives filled the air.

Ryan opened the box, eyes gleaming with anticipation, and… paused.

"Lisa, you want the last slice?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Lisa, who had been looking forward to this moment all day, slowly turned to him, her face breaking into a mischievous smile. "No, I think you should have it," she replied, her voice dripping with sweet sarcasm.

Ryan, completely oblivious to her intentions, grabbed the slice and started to take a bite, but Lisa wasn’t finished.

"You know," she said casually, "I didn’t have much for lunch today. Just a salad… And you know how I feel about salad."

Ryan, still chewing, nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. You’ve been 'salad-scarred' for life."

Lisa shrugged and glanced at the remaining slice, her eyes twinkling with a combination of hunger and strategy. "It’s just that… I ate the smallest portion of pizza last night. And you ate three slices, which I think is highly inconsiderate, considering my salad situation."

Ryan paused, mouth halfway open. "Wait, are you telling me this is some sort of pizza redistribution program? Like, if I ate more last night, you should get more tonight? Is this a thing now?"

Lisa leaned back, her posture becoming slightly too comfortable. "It’s called 'pizza equity,' Ryan. You should’ve learned about it by now. You take three slices one night, you give one back the next."

Ryan’s eyes narrowed in a mixture of confusion and concern. "Hold on, are we talking about the same pizza? I paid for it, didn’t I? So, technically, the leftover pizza belongs to me by default. You get the second-to-last slice, at best."

Lisa looked at him, deadpan. "You think just because you paid for the pizza, that means you get the leftovers? Wow. That’s… a bold take on pizza politics. I’ll have you know, Ryan, that the true ruler of pizza leftovers is the one who didn’t gorge themselves the night before. That’s how this works in the real world."

Ryan shook his head. "You know, I swear, I don’t remember signing up for a pizza democracy. I didn’t even know there were rules. I’m just trying to survive here."

Lisa raised her eyebrows. "Oh, there are rules, my friend. You’ve just been neglecting them for the past decade."

At this point, Ryan, feeling a mix of guilt and amusement, decided to take a different approach. He carefully placed the slice back into the box and sat down at the table, eyeing Lisa like a hawk. "You know what? Fine. I’ll be the bigger person here. You can have the last slice."

Lisa, for a split second, looked a little taken aback. But then, she shrugged, pretending to think about it. "You know, I was just kidding, Ryan. I was about to let you have it… but since you’ve made it all dramatic, I’m starting to reconsider. Maybe you should have the slice after all."

Ryan stared at her, disbelief painted across his face. "Wait. Are you really trying to manipulate me into thinking you don’t want the slice, just so you can make me feel guilty and then take it from me in the end?"

Lisa laughed, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just testing your resolve. You’re like a pawn in a pizza chess game, Ryan. You should feel honored."

Ryan sighed and dropped his fork, resigning himself to the fact that he was caught in the most absurd game of culinary manipulation he had ever experienced. "Alright, fine. Take the last slice. You win. But just remember this moment when we get dessert. I’m getting the last brownie."

Lisa raised her hands in mock surrender. "Oh, I’m not worried. I’ll let you have that too. But only because you deserve it. After all, you are the one who paid for both the pizza and the brownies."

Ryan, defeated, let out a long sigh. "I’m starting to think I might be better off just getting my own pizza from now on."

Lisa smiled sweetly. "You can. But remember, you’ll have to eat the salad alone."

Ryan’s eyes widened. "Not the salad… anything but the salad."

And just like that, peace was restored. For now.