This morning a Page Six reporter outed herself as the woman behind, the blog that documents her efforts to make her boyfriend 300 sandwiches in exchange for an engagement ring.

The story begins (emphasis mine, because WTF?):

My boyfriend, Eric, is the gourmet cook in our relationship, but he’d always want me to make him a sandwich.

Each morning, he would ask, “Honey, how long you have been awake?”

“About 15 minutes,” I’d reply.

“You’ve been up for 15 minutes and you haven’t made me a sandwich?”

To him, sandwiches are like kisses or hugs. Or sex. “Sandwiches are love,” he says. “Especially when you make them. You can’t get a sandwich with love from the deli.”

Oh, okay.

I started with the easy things. My second sandwich after the turkey and Swiss was a two-second ice-cream sandwich constructed from Anna’s ginger thin cookies and blackberry currant ice cream. My early thinking was quantity, not quality.

Ten sandwiches or so in, I did the math. Three sandwiches a week, times four weeks a month, times 12 months a year, meant I wouldn’t be done until I was deep into my 30s. How would I finish 300 sandwiches in time for us to get engaged, married and have babies before I exited my childbearing years?

Yes, how!?

I made sandwiches for breakfast, lunch, dinner and dessert. I made sandwiches to get myself out of the doghouse — like No. 67, a scrambled egg, smoked salmon and chive creation that combined some of Eric’s favorite things to make up for my being 45 minutes late for dinner the night before.

Even after covering movie premieres or concerts for Page Six, I found myself stumbling into the kitchen to make Eric a sandwich while I still had on my high heels and party dress.

Sigh. I know worse people have gotten engaged for dumber reason, but this is insane. I love cooking food for and with my husband. I certainly don't think a woman can't prepare her partner a meal without first considering whether or not she's supporting archaic gender roles, but to take the stupid "Get in the kitchen and make me a sandwich," quip and turn it into a "cute" little game with the reward of something as serious as marriage at the end is just gross. (As a counterpoint to this madness, please see Jessica Hopper's "This Is What a Feminist Cooks Like" in the most recent issue of Lucky Peach.)

Although, I do wonder what happens after she gets the ring. Will she have to do 300 loads of laundry for a honeymoon? Or maybe she will have to clean 300 toilets to earn a baby! So many possibiities!

I'm not worried about this sandwich woman, though. I'm sure if she doesn't end up with a happy marriage she will at least get a book deal, a (made-for-TV) movie deal, and plenty of money on the talk show circuit. How many carats does baloney buy, anyway?

(Via Jezebel.)