You would like figs.

So it was another day at Newtonite, as I sat waiting for the clock to hit 6 so I could go home and study for the zillion tests I had the next day.
Our adviser broke the hush of typing keys with a groan.
"I brought these lemon bars at Shaw's," she started. "But when I got home, I realized they were fig bars!"
The room let out a collective retch of disgust.
"Hey, I love figs!" I said cheerfully.
"You DO??" she asked.
"Yea, I love them! My dad loves 'em even more, it's kind of a family thing I guess you could say.
"He DOES??"
"Yea!"
From across the desk Eli lets out his usual comment.
"You would. You would like figs."
"What does that even MEAN?" I asked him threateningly. "God, that's all you ever say. You would. What does that even mean??"
"We have an expression in the North End for people like you," our adviser said jokingly, and made a semi-vulgar gesture at him. "Tomorrow, I'll bring you those bars," she tells me.

The next day I walk into shop. She grunts at me, signaling me to stay put. She dashes into her office and comes out with three plastic containers of fig bars (which I had already forgotten about.) The rest of the day I walked around with them in my bag, and ate them as soon as I got home.
Yes, I would do that.
And damn, they were good.