Snaps and snails

Michael tells me that he never liked Rice Krispy bars until I made them for him. This puzzled me (who could possibly not like Rice Krispy bars?) until we discovered that he had been eating the wrong kind his whole life! Apparently the kind he grew up eating were the marshmallow type, while the kind I grew up eating (and, of course, the kind I made for him) are the peanut-butter-and-corn-syrup type, with melted chocolate chip topping. As we discussed this, I began to realise that I hadn't had the marshmallow type until a few years ago - in fact, it may well have been since moving to Virginia. This sparked quite a theory on the origins and variations of Rice Krispy bars - is there a distinct West Coast and East Coast variety, perchance? I do confess that I like my way better - marshmallows are great, but you can't beat chocolate - but I still like the new marshmallow variety, anyway. Not so Michael. This I cannot fathom. He says it's because he finds it 'slimy.'

Speaking of slimy...

Last night at the dinner table we were talking of the news of the day. Michael tells me that there's a new threat to Florida wildlife (and the not-so-wildlife): African snails, escaped from or released by their pet owners, are wreaking havoc on the landscape. This piques my interest. 'And so Florida is being destroyed by vapid and irresponsible pet owners. But it's not just the irresponsibility of letting your pet (and a dangerous one at that) escape into the wild: it's the whole premise of owning said so-called pet in the first place! What kind of person would keep a snail as a pet? What kind of void - no, what kind of vacuum - a gaping chasm of a hole - would you have to have in your heart, to turn for affection and entertainment and validation to a cold-blooded, creeping, slimy, snail? How lame is that - how empty and devoid of interest would your life have to be to need snails to enrich it?' The italics grow more bombastic until I notice that Michael is looking at me with an odd look. 'What? What is it?' 'I guess I never told you about the pet snails I had as a kid,' he mumbles. Oh agony of remorse and retribution! How can I sufficiently abjure my words and assure him that I really didn't mean a bit of it and that I have nothing against snail-owners after all? 'Like Darcy...you need the pleasure of acquaintance long enough to realise that I occasionally find great enjoyment in professing opinions which are not my own...of course I don't think ill of you just because you owned snails...that was before you met me, right?...I didn't know you kept pet snails.' 'I didn't,' he tells me with a grin. 'I just wanted to see if I could cure you of your fancy for tirades.'

Like ha!