I don’t get it. She was 17, 20, or 22. She didn’t have a one-piece powder blue uniform with chocolate stains all over it, black cat-eye glasses, or 3 pencils sticking out of a tightly pulled hair bun in the back of her head, and yet when she approached me, she said “what’s it going to be “Hun?” … Continue reading IF I’M YOUR “HONEY,” WHY AM I STILL PAYING FOR BREAKFAST?