|Seriously, I'm staaaaarving|
If I'm over at his house and it's late and I'm hungry, I'm almost always shit out of luck. If I ask if there's anything for us to eat, I get to watch him rummage through his kitchen like he's discovering everything for the first time. He's flipping through his cupboards and swinging the freezer door open, totally unaware of their contents.
"Huh. I have half a frozen pizza and some ice cream. No wait, the carton's empty. Nevermind. I have some pickles, but they're pretty old. I have six Triscuits, no wait (shakes the box) like, four Triscuits. I can make you some soup? I'm pretty sure I have a can around here somewhere."
A guy's kitchen is a constant source of disappointment like consistent sizing at Old Navy or the show 2 Broke Girls. So, when he takes the initiative to make us appetizing snacks, I'm genuinely surprised and pleased. I'm surpleased. Sure, I'll jam on some chips and salsa. An olive medley? Okey doke! Even a little dish of raw almonds would be grand. Really, serving me anything other than Pringles crumbs is gonna make him look like Jose Garces.
This is the most basic thing on the planet, but snacks go a long way. Boys, guys, and men, please brush up on your snack game. I beg you. I swear, it makes all the difference.