I was in a house with Bill C. He walks by me and opens up a large round container. It's the kind that you would get cookies in at the bakery in the grocery store. Very flimsy, clear plastic, but it's the size of a platter and maybe only an inch deep. It's about half full of fudge. He asked me if I wanted some. I said, No. thank you. He said he thought I liked it. I said I did and that it was very good, that I had tried one piece. He said he didn't. I said, What do you mean you don't like it? I thought you said you did? I thought your mom made it. He said she did.