I hate grits. According to Dh, I make some of the best he's ever tasted, which is the way my grandmother did it, but I don't eat them. That's where me, and my southern heritage draw the line. My ex loved grits too. All I had to do was tell him my grandmother was making fried fish, hushpuppies, and grits, or bacon, eggs, and grits, and he was out the door headed to her house. He asked me to learn how to make them. I told him I would. Eventually, he began asking about my progress with making grits the way my grandmother did. After any meal with grits, when they've gotten cold, they are worse to clean out of the pot than oatmeal, which is something else I don't make too often, because I hate cleaning the pot afterwards. I'm still convinced that one of the major ingredients in Super Glue involves pulverized grits, and just enough water...well, you get the idea. Anyway, my ex was getting a bit insistent that I learn to cook grits like my grandmother's, and I knew if I cooked them once, he'd want them regularly. What to do? I told him I knew how to cook them like she did, but they couldn't be cooked in just any pot, they required a grit pot, so he would have to wait until I inherited hers. That worked for years. One evening I went to my grandmother's, and she was furious with me. "How dare you tell that man you have to have a special grit pot to make grits in." "As much as he loves grits, you start fixing him some grits, and quit your nonsense." "You should be ashamed of yourself." He was sitting there listening to her chew me out, and grinning. I informed him that I would cook him grits anytime he wanted them, with 1 stipulation. He had to scrub the grit pot, and the first time he failed to do so, I would throw the pot out, and never cook them again. That worked for a few months, then one morning I made grits, and 2 days later the grit pot was still begging to be scrubbed out. I tossed it, and never made any for him again.