a tip of the glass to you

after trader joe's i was possessed to hit up claim jumper. chey was unimpressed with my voracious craving because she is impossibly anti-hype and absolutely against trying new things. after some mockery of the name "claim jumper," and an ungrateful attempt to elude what she called "the bail bondsman," we finally went in. against all odds, the amazing avocado rolls surpassed the ones we had at the cheesecake factory in san francisco last year. they were, to die.



thirty minutes later our food came (a bowl of potato soup and some sliders for chey, french onion soup and a fucked up roasted vegetable goat cheese mess of a sandwich for me. the bread was its only redeeming quality. just sayin'.), and even though neither of us could finish our dinner we obviously didn't turn down dessert.

for some reason the bread pudding was basically leaping off of the menu and into my mouth even though a) i don't like cinnamon, b) i don't like raisins, and c) i don't like soggy bread. i think i was only in it for the walnut-bourbon cream sauce, of which i got a whole teaspoon.



ms. hesitant perked up at a $10.00 dessert called the "i declair," and our server let it be known that the portion could feed and house a large tibetan village, but that didn't stop us. she quickly returned with my meager offering of floppy wet bread and this:



okay, dessert is serious business around here, but we were intimidated for sure, and i was insanely jealous. i had some dank bread and she had an eclair bigger than her face. i started holding it against her and scraped the speck cream off that godforsaken disaster i had been salivating over as she dug into that baby with zero guilt.



two bites later we were bursting at the seams and asked for a to go platter for the beast. that's when it started. as we were waiting for said receptacle i took a drink of water and chey decided it would be heee-larious to smack the bottom of my glass spilling water down my neck and chest in front of everyone. mind you it was something like 24° outside and 2° in my car, as my heater is a bitch and likes to try to produce something that resembles heat right as you reach your destination, but i digress. i was actually amused and proud of how ballsy that was so i laughingly said "that's funny!" obviously i took another sip and spit it all over her face, but that wasn't good enough so i upped the ante and poured half of my very large glass onto her lap. i knew i was in for trouble but thankfully i have no shame. as soon as i grabbed our food and got up to go around the corner of our booth and within view of every fucking diner there, i got hit with an ice cold tsunami on my back and it was war.

walking out, i was silently plotting her ocd demise and struggling to maintain my center of gravity while carrying the sixteen french fries she had to take and the dessert of which we do not speak...we only wear.

chey told me later that she saw me peeling open the flimsy tin, her eagle eye was no match for my reflexes, and in an instant, cheyenne, hater of all things sticky, messy, leaking, and touching her, was wearing the ten dollar eclair on her face and in her hair. i felt a laughter rise up inside me, but before it made its way into the frigid air, i felt my very own weapon smashed into my face. we were afraid to even look at each other, for fear of actually dying of laughter, plus when you see someone all fucked up with chocolate glops falling off her face, there's always the threat of a lasting awkwardness. but the laughter seared into the icy air and once we saw the delicious fortune splattered all over the sidewalk, well, i can't even describe the laughter about that. i had to find my glasses on the ground, people were coming out, we were soaked and quickly freezing...it was one of the best moments of my life. the ride home, with milk curdling in our hair, not so much. i recommend the bail bondsman. their "i declair" will feed three and destroy at least as many heads of hair.