Dinner was a piece of cake tonightLiterally. We went to the Madonna Inn for a piece of Blackforest Cake and a glass of milk — Evan had a banana-layer cake and a cup of coffee. The idea was to have our dessert first in case we died on the way over to the Farmer's Market to eat dinner. As it turned out, we almost died on the way to the car from eating too much cake. We spent the whole Farmer's Market walking back and forth fighting nausea. Let me tell you, the Farmer's Market is not the best place to be fighting nausea. Between the big greasy sausage stands, the undercooked chicken kabobs, the crowds of people leaning over filthy trash cans with sauce-covered faces and half-eaten ribs in their hands, and the billowing smoke from BBQs stationed every twenty feet or so, the nausea got worse long before it got better. But we survived, and eventually ended up at Linnaea's for coffee and reading.
While we were still at the Madonna Inn waiting for our cake to arrive, we witnessed a sweet little exchange between our waiter and the people sitting at the counter next to us. They ordered a BLT to share and the waiter brought it on two seperate plates, each with it's own garnish. He approached them with both plates held out, looking back and forth between them. Finally, he asked, "Which of you had the BLT?" Humor is a tough discipline. The man replied, "Either one will do," as if he had asked, "Do you want the left half or the right half of the sandwich?" The rules are: If it's funny, we laugh. Well, we laughed, but his audience went on eating.