“All I’m saying,” he said, resting his hands on the arm of the couch, “Is that it’s just chocolate. We’re not talking about anything groundbreaking here, are we? We’re not talking about solving world hunger or bringing about an everlasting peace. Why does it matter to you how I choose to eat it?”

“Because there’s a certain order to things,” she replied, her arms folded. “If you’re just going to yam it in your gob, what’s the point of anything?”

“Oh, now you’re just being melodramatic.”

“It’s segmented!” she snapped. “Four fingers. You break them off one by one and you enjoy them individually, slowly. Like having a bath.”

“Segmented chocolate isn’t strictly speaking any sort of… consumption directive. It’s a guideline. A serving suggestion, if you will. No one’s going to die because I choose to eat the thing like I would any other bar of chocolate.”

“It’s sacrilege!”

“It’s chocolate! In all of human history, there is not a single war that started as a result of eati—... where are you going?”