Several years back, while Greg and I were dating, I made him some chocolate-covered pretzels at Christmas. I used both dark and white chocolate. I even drizzled the pretzels with white chocolate that I had colored red and green. The pretezels were, I thought, a heart- and tummy-warming gift. But it turns out that Greg, who likes all types of food and will eat almost anything, doesn’t like chocolate-covered pretzels. Or chocolate-covered strawberries. Or any object coated in chocolate. (Ladies, you’re wondering how I could marry such a man, right?) He was too nice to tell me he didn’t like the pretzels, so he choked down as many as he could and gave the rest to his mom and sister. They adored the pretzels as any good women would.
Tonight, an intense hankering for chocolate inspired me to make a few chocolate-covered pretzels. We had to pry one from Abe’s mouth after I accidentally dropped it. Greg tried one and said it tasted pretty good.
“So you like chocolate-covered pretzels now?” I asked.
“These taste better than the other ones you made,” Greg said. “Maybe my tastes just weren’t refined enough before to enjoy them.”
“Your tastes weren’t refined enough?” I asked, eyebrows raised. “But even Abe likes the pretzels.”
“Yeah, but Abe eats poo. He likes everything.”
“Are you comparing my pretzels to poo?”
Compliments don’t come much higher than that!