Trouble in Toasterville

Just when you think everything is going along nice and fine - all smooth and such forth - one day you find out that you really don't know your girlfriend at all. That day happened to be tonight, while Cat and I were driving back from the grocery store.

In one of our regular type of normal conversations, I asked Cat what type of Pop Tart she'd be, given the opportunity to actually turn oneself into a Pop Tart. Strawberry, she replied without hesitation. No frosting. Toasted, well done.

Strawberry?! NO frosting? Who is this woman?!!!! Somebody please return my girlfriend.

There was stunned silence. I didn't know how to respond. I felt awkward. Like when you are on a first date and you think it's going really really well so you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and a few minutes later you walk out of the bathroom completely buck naked, feeling all sexy and the like, only to find out in a surprising and humiliating sort of way that the date isn't going that well after all.

Well what kind of Pop Tart would you be? she asked me.

Blueberry, of course, I replied. With frosting. Straight outta the box.

Again, stunned silence.

BLOOO-BERRY?! she exclaimed in quasi-horror, quasi-shock and quasi-disbelief, like quasi-modo.

Yes, blueberry, I responded in my most calm Pop Tart type of voice. Us blueberry Pop Tarts, we're a very calm breed.

Oh, and by the way, I continued, I'll be eaten around the edges first, completely removing, chewing and swallowing all edges before eating the middle part.

As if the conversation hadn't reached it's bottom point already, the eating tactic didn't help.

That's not how a Pop Tart is eaten, Cat informed me. I take a bite of the crust, then a bite of the inside, then a bite of the crust... and on and on.

Sometimes in a relationship you get into these uncomfortable conversations where you recognize that anything either person says is just going to make matters worse. However, you don't want to abruptly change the subject for fear of coming across as insensitive, uncaring and just plain shallow. It's somewhat of a Catch 22. We'll call this one a Pop Tart 22.

Ummm....how about those cinnamon Pop Tarts? Cat asked me in what was clearly a filler question. A segue to less stressful, non-relationship-killer conversation.

Cinnamon?! That's not a Pop Tart. Even if the Pop Tart people made a Cinnamon Pop Tart, they're wrong. Pop Tarts don't come in Cinnamon. I refuse to answer that question.

Right about this time we arrived home, which was a perfect excuse to change the subject.
Whew.
Hopefully tomorrow all this Pop Tart talk can be swept under the toaster.