Passing the Pierogi Test

There's Eastern European man who hits on me in the gym every day. In front of his Cuban wife. They're both in their seventies. The husband is the same fellow who showed me his Polish passport, which he got in exchange for providing some sort of information when his home country, Czechoslovakia, fell under Communist rule. Anyways, when he heard I was making pierogi, he made sad puppy eyes at me and said he hadn't had any since his mother was alive. "Just bring me one, McPolack. Just one pierogi."

Yesterday I brought him four pierogi: two for him and two for his wife. Today I asked him if he liked the pierogis. "Well, McPolack," he said, "you're ready to get married."