Thus ends my life of crime...or does it?

I was fingerprinted today. It was all very cool and electronic, so I didn't end up with inky fingers. Although, I think the man doing it was getting a little annoyed as he (pardon the expression) manhandled my hands to get the best prints. You know how it is when you're trying to dress a child and they stick their legs out straight and refuse to bend their knees? So you secretly end up wishing their legs were removable because you're already running late and it would be so much easier to put the pants on that way? What? I nannied. I have nieces and nephews. (Not you, Roy. You were an angel.)
Anyway, I think the fingerprint guy was secretly wishing he could pop my hands off my wrists. I wasn't trying to be difficult or anything, but he wasn't really forthcoming with the directions so I couldn't understand what he was trying to do. Now my prints are digitally winging their way to the FBI and Department of Justice for to have my background checked. I hope they don't find out about that time I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die.

Afterward I looked at my watch and it was Noodle Time! mmm, Noodle Time--serving the finest in Thai-Japanese-Chinese noodles. I got the Beef Chow Mein (it's not just for British werewolves anymore). It smelled so good driving back to the office that I nearly pulled over and ate it in the car. Alas, I held out until I got back to my desk.

For the past couple of days, everywhere I look I see some cafe/coffeehouse/eatery advertising Boba. "What the heck is Boba and why is it so popular," I've asked myself. While waiting for my order at NT, I saw a poster that actually read "What is Boba?" I sauntered over. Boba, it seems, is tapioca. (insert involuntary gagging sounds) Tapioca? In drinks? (gags again) In case you haven't guessed by now, I loathe tapioca. Someone ordered a boba drink while I was waiting and the mixing and sealing machine was fascinating, but still, EW.