Her (under her breath): “Damn men.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Pardon?”
She grimaces and shrugs. “You come in, put your soup in the microwave, set it for a couple minutes, go across the hall to use the restroom, and then make it back before the microwave is even done.”
I just laugh, “It was 90 seconds.” I lift my free hand and wiggle my fingers at her. “AND I washed my hands too.”
She doesn’t quite smile, “Like I said. Damn men.”
This must be that “male advantage” they keep telling me I have.