"It's Hallowe'en. Probably Superman's dressed up as Clark Kent for the night." Foreman took his corndog from the vendor and stepped over to the mustard dispenser. There were not enough napkins in the world to deal with this mess if he got it on his camelhair coat, but he was hungry enough that the inevitable dry-cleaning seemed worth it. He made a mental note to kiss the hell out of Amber the second he wasn't in danger of smearing condiments all over himself. Simple revenge for her winning, of course, but also because he could tell from her voice that she wasn't serious. Onions and garlic weren't going to deter him. "The bet was that we'd do what you wanted. Not that I couldn't make suggestions of what you might want," he said with perfect assurance. He gave her an evaluating look before nodding to himself. "I bet you have chocolate sauce at home." And ice cream in the freezer, he was sure. Anyone who ordered a milkshake when it was this cold out was never going to be without ice cream.

Biting into the corndog, Foreman couldn't help letting out an appreciative sound. As a doctor he knew that the human taste bud was conditioned to appreciate anything fatty as a survival mechanism, but it was something else to taste evolution in action. His mouth was watering before he went in for the next bite, even though he'd nearly burned his tongue on the hot dog inside the breading. "Delicious," he said, around his bite. Mustard was already creeping down the stick to land on his fingers, and he tilted the dog away from himself. "Terrible. Worth it." He grinned. "How'd you con me into this, again?"