I don't much care for cheese.
The Jackass loved cheese. Like, forget the knife, just hand him the whole block, right?
He had to have complete control over the food. What we bought. How much. And it was always stuff he liked. And a lot of the foods he liked are things that I just... can't eat, for various reasons. He was on a steady diet of high-fat, high-cholesterol, salt-laden, heavily-processed crap. And cheese. (But I repeat myself!)
So, grocery shopping, we'd buy a block of cheese, right?
Within two days, 80% of that block of cheese would be half-melted to the top of the microwave, with a weird oily slick around it.
Because somebody "forgot" to put it away.
And just happened to leave it on a surface not only made of metal, but painted black, and in perpetual, direct sunlight.
A spot I wouldn't find it until it began to smell.
If this had been a one-time or once-in-a-great-while thing, and he'd been conscientious about putting things away in the past, and continued to do so in the future, I'd have been fine. Everybody occasionally forgets to put something away now and then, it's not a huge deal.
But not him.
It was every. Block. Of cheese.
With gentle reminders and requests to please put that back in the fridge so it doesn't rot.
And then he'd get angry at me for throwing out the nasty-ass mess HE made.