Too...much...food...

I would like to first mention that my father a)reads this blog too damn much and b)brings it up too damn often in conversation with complete strangers.

Daddy: Be. Quiet.
Also: Thanks for dinner!

My mommy and daddy are in town this week, which means major shiksa insurance for me** and major parent-child bonding time for them. So after a decent weekend, they decided to take me and eight other friends out for dinner. We went to one of those shipudim (meat skewers; like kebobs...) places where they give you enough salad so that just as you feel your sides literally splitting, then they bring out the meat.

Because clearly, if you aren't vomiting on the floor, you haven't been eating enough.
So Jessie, Kelly, Arielle, Deborah, Becca, Shana, Hannah, Hila and I had enough food to Feed the World (do they know it's Christmas Time....oh my god, the seasonal-appropriateness just kills you...), thanks to my every generous Folks. I feel like Jabba the Hutt (sp?): Salaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddddd. Keep it coming! Kill the Wookie!

Then Anna, who was unable to join us because she was having bonding-time-dinner with her parents met me and my parents down at Aroma, where all hell broke loose.

Cause you know how I go to Elite Cafe too often?

It appears that I go to Aroma Cafe too often, also.

Because when the security guard gets excited to see you and meet your parents, and the barrista/barristo guy makes you a plate of whipped cream with chocolates just cause, you know that a)you've got it made b)you need to cut back on the coffee c)you have to get a work permit and work there or d)just ask them nicely for a teeshirt already, and stop plotting how to steal their clever little coffee mugs with their clever little logo.

And let's back up: Avi the Coffee Guy brought me whipped cream. On a plate. With 10 pieces of extraneous chocolate. Whipped cream. Plate. Me.

Whipped.

Cream.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Gentle readers (free chocolate for those that can remember the source of that golden-oldie phrase), you are all cordially invited to the wedding of Miss Jessica "Ziv" Goldberg and Mr Avi "Aroma Guy" AromaGuy, to take place next week. Whipped cream will be served. And probably coffee too.

W.T.F: How the hell did he know that straight-up whipped cream is my favorite thing ever? I don't think a single boyfriend of mine has ever given me whipped cream on a plate/in a bowl/in a cup, just cause (unless i wheedled...and even then, it hasn't really worked...)
Avi, if you're reading this, shave that stupid little soul-patch, and marry me, you crazy coffee fool.
Bridesmaids will be bedecked in Aroma Tees.
Men will wear the aprons over their tuxes

Invitations are in the mail

**Shiksa Insurance: Once upon a time when my dad went off to university, his great aunt AKA Tante Sarah said to him: "Meyer Chayim, do you love your Tante?" Dad: "Yes, Tante". Tante: "How much do you love your Tante?" Dad: "Soooo much, Tante" Tante: *presses five bucks into his hand* "Don't marry a shiksa."
Since that fateful moment, every time I hit daddy up for money or get fun spending money from the daddy, it's called "shiksa insurance" because hey, if you keep giving me cash, i'll date whoever you want me to date.