the magic pretzel

eric just came bursting into the room from the bathroom. with a whole wheat pretzel.

and he held it up proudly, near my face, and said, a little too loudly, “WHAT DOES THIS LOOK LIKE.”

i gave him the obvious answer he was going for.

poop. a poop, ok? this pretzel looked like a nasty, contorted poop.

and he? he just stood there, admiring it.

and then he ate it. slowly, bite by bite, clearly savoring it.

i will NEVER. fully understand men.


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