What's For Dinner?

"Here you go!"
"Thanks, babe. Looks good." He swirled his spoon through the soup, looking for hidden vegetables, but he only saw potatoes and corn. "This tastes really good. But...mm, I don't like clams." He flipped the offending mollusk back into the tureen.
"Babe, it's clam chowder."
"I know, but I don't like the texture."
"Saying, 'I like clam chowder' and sitting down to a bowl of clam chowder, one might expect to find clams. In the clam chowder."
"It's good! All I'm saying is I don't like the clams."
"Jesus, Lee. Whatever. Put them in my bowl."
"Do you want me to fish that other one out of the pot?"
"Leave it. I put your dick in my mouth; I'll survive your half-eaten clam. Just don't do it for company."
"Of course."
"You eat that gloopy canned soup crap. Why's this different? They both have clams."
"I know. But I can taste the clams in this."
"You are fucking weird, do you know that?"
"Thank you for making me the soup, babe."
Jen fished the last of the clams out of the tureen, "You're welcome, Lee. I love you, too."