Hello? Mr. Counterman at the Fancy, Overpriced Bakery I Swore to my Husband I Would No Longer Patronize Because They Charge $9 for Coffee and a Muffin?
A word, please.
When I asked you to walk me through your selection of fancy, overpriced cakes, you oh-so-imperceptibly scoffed when I asked if this one was Oreo. And launched into a ever-so-slightly condescending explanation of how it was made with uber-fancy Valrhona dark chocolate.
"Have you ever had Valrhona?" you asked. A whiff of superiority clung to the air.
"I don't think so," I said sheepishly. "But really? It looks like an Oreo cake to me."
"Well, it shouldn't," you said, ever-so-slightly patronizingly.
I bought it anyway. It was my birthday, you know. My husband was too sick to get me a cake. And it looked good, whatever the hell it was.
But dude? Valrhona my ass. That is an Oreo. I know from Oreos. Don't mess with me when it comes to Oreos.
That is all.