<I take a passing glance at the dessert menu (just one for the table) and pass it to my niece and her bf>
<They glance at the menu and exchange an extended significant glance that almost looks like an exchange of Ha (breath) and also almost looks like a head-to-head>
me: Ummm... that looks like a "you know what I'm going to say but I'm waiting for you to say it to see if you really know what I want."
niece: What I want and what he will want are not the same thing.
me: You can each get something...
bf: We can get yours and share it.
me: So... which is it?
niece: The creme brulée.
me: Of COURSE the creme brulée!
<discussion continues and I make Big Frog tell his story about Mexican food>
me, in passing: I wonder what creme brulée is in Spanish. ¿Como se dice creme brulée?
<niece types>
me: Are you Yelping already? <knows that usually would be me typing>
niece: I'm Google translating. <pause> Flan. Of course it's flan.
This weekend I discovered the joy of having an adult niece, from drinking (responsibly!) together, to my positively pressuring her to get Fairy Hair (she did, in a very professional matches-and-shines, flashes-in-the-sunlight color, whereas I put Easter-egg-colored sparkles in mine), to late-night tabletop gaming. And Biltmore. You've met me; you don't even have to ask. Better believe we went to Biltmore. Getting to walk around downtown Kernersville this morning on a sunny, 60F+ day? Love it. C'mon... move South!
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