How the heck does Sally know specifically what he wants? I look at a dog scratching at the door in a snowstorm, all I think is, “Poor thing’s cold and wants in.”
All my positive hopes died off decades ago, now I’m just left with negatives like, “Hope I don’t end up in the street”, and “Hope Republicans don’t kill off SS and ACA like they’ve been threatening to.”
He should try rigatoni.