Then, inspired by Catherine and Frank and everyone else who's been blogging about the deliciousness of Tres Leches cake, I tried, oh so miserably, to order it. I can pronounce French like crazy, but I sounded like Peggy Hill trying to say "Tres Leches". I finally held up the counter display and pointed at the picture.
Then I hung my head in shame.
But the food was cheap and tasty and the cake--Boy Howdy--it was worth the embarrassment.
Ladies Room update: Baby Daddy Drama was in the Crazy Room this morning straightening her hair with a flat iron. Accompanying her were two friends, one of whom was crying. They were so loud you could hear them down the hall--or at the very least, in the men's room next door. M------, our temp, ventured in to pee (what a concept). Suddenly, Baby Daddy Drama looked at her phone and gasped. It was a text message---from her boss---who was standing out in the hall listening to them carrying on. BDD panicked and asked my co-worker to hold her flat iron so the boss didn't know she was in there doing her hair. So, as far as I know, the flat iron is still in our possession. I suggested holding it for ransom.