G returns to bed in the middle of the evening, (we woke up and decided to continue watching Dredd.) He spoons behind me and we watch the movie on a laptop.
Me: Um ... is that my toffee pudding I smell on your breath?
G: Damn, I was hoping to disguise it with your raspberry chocolate and your diet Coke.
General, the toffee pudding thief, doesn't like toffee pudding, he only likes chocolate. So I usually make about 20 cups for him and four for myself, on account of not being able to each much solids. He goes through his lot in two days like a storm. I guess inertia makes him switch to mine.
(I have a drawer in the fridge that contains 'my' things, things I don't want others to eat. That drawer is sacred!)
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