Three Meals a Day, Just Potatoes

On the day I graduated from college, I had just received my diploma when Robert Lane, my grandfather, rushed to arrange a family-arranged date for me.

He said the guy’s parents had been business partners with our corporation for years, that he was well-mannered and came from a wealthy family, and that I’d never be mistreated if I married him.

For the sake of Grandpa’s health, I reluctantly agreed to start as friends with the man and even agreed to travel together to see the grasslands near Portland.

I never expected this date to turn out to be a nightmare — he literally forced me to eat his mother’s homemade potato stew three times a day!

When I refused, he righteously lectured me:

"Aren’t you just the pampered daughter of a small family-owned factory? Stop acting like a spoiled princess!"

I was stunned — he actually had no idea who I really was. But for Grandpa’s sake and the long-standing business ties between our families, I chose to stay silent.

As soon as the trip ended, I told him we were not a match.

To my shock, Jason King later showed up carrying a bag of spoiled potato stew, threatening me:

"If my mom finds out these potatoes were wasted, she’ll be heartbroken! You wouldn’t want to upset your future mother-in-law, right? My mom could shut down your little factory with the snap of a finger!"

I thought of that middle-aged woman who showed up at my house every month in a tight red dress to deliver gifts and couldn’t help but sneer.

"Anyone can eat this stew if they want, but as for your mom — she’s nothing in front of me."

Then I called my secretary:

"Ms. Lewis, notify everyone — terminate all cooperation with King Foods immediately."

The day after agreeing to the trip, we appeared at Seattle–Tacoma International Airport.

Standing at security, I watched Jason open his overstuffed suitcase and froze.

"Are these… all potatoes?"

I stared at the suitcase full of potatoes, both raw and cooked, some still with dirt clinging to them.

"Why on earth did you bring so many potatoes?"

Jason gave me a dismissive glance.

"My mom prepared them for me. When you travel, you have to bring your own food — it’s so expensive to buy outside."

"Potatoes are practical — they fill you up and don’t take up much space!"

I gasped, curling my toes in my shoes.

"Isn’t this heavy?"

He chuckled, flexing his biceps proudly.

"I lift way more than this at the gym. No big deal."

Just then, the TSA officer politely spoke up:

"Sir, your luggage is overweight. You’ll need to pay an additional fee."

Jason’s face darkened.

"Overweight? That’s impossible! I weighed it myself!"

"The full ticket price is $1,000. You’re five kilograms over, so that’s $1,000 × 1.5% × 5 = $75."

The officer calculated quickly.

"Seventy-five dollars?"

Jason’s voice rose, drawing stares from nearby passengers.

"Are you robbing me? Potatoes cost way less than that per pound!"

My cheeks burned from embarrassment. I opened my wallet.

"I’ll pay for it."

To my surprise, Jason grew even more agitated and pointed at me.

"Typical spoiled rich girl! Wasteful and arrogant! With this attitude, how are you supposed to marry into the King family?"

I was speechless.

Grandpa said he was supposed to be generous and good-tempered.

But the man yelling over seventy-five dollars in public — was this his idea of generosity?

And then, to my utter shock, Jason refused to check in his luggage and instead opened the suitcase right there, pulling out cooked potatoes and stuffing them into his mouth.