We have a very nice café downstairs where I often grab a sandwich or a salad for my lunch. Today I wanted one of their big bowls of fresh-cut fruit (with yogurt dip in the middle, although I eschew the yogurt dip) so I was standing in front of the refrigerated case, inspecting the fruit bowls. There is a sweet lady who works there; she calls me “baby” and orders me what (not) to get, e.g., “You don’t want chicken salad today, baby! That’s not the regular chef, so don’t you get that chicken salad. Get you a roast beef or some ham, baby!” - and I obey.

So Sweet Lady looks over and asks, “Whatchoo doin’, baby?” I tell her that I despise cantaloupe [which is because, to me, it doesn’t taste the way it smells like it’s going to, and I’m repelled by the jarring discrepancy between nasal stimulation and tongue perception], so I’m looking for a fruit bowl with the least amount of nasty, slimy cantaloupe. Sweet Lady looks around, casing the joint, says, “Hold on a minute, baby!” and disappears kitchenward with three fruit bowls. She comes back with the fruit redistributed and gives a totally, completely cantaloupe-free bowl to me! “Here you go, baby!” HOW COOL IS THAT?!?

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!