"Don't they serve bread here?" I ask with not a hint of patience. At a certain point, I'd rather embarrass myself by eating two loaves of stale bread than wait an extra 30 minutes for my meal.

"Yeah, they serve the chocolaty bread here."

That made my night. My 31 year old husband, chief fellow in oncology referring to rye bread as "the chocolaty bread." He does this from time to time, renaming ordinary items, making me so so happy. He also still asks me, "Now which ones are the white cheeses?" when selecting the fixings for his sandwich, even though I've answered that question no less than 30 times now. He doesn't like "the yellow cheese."