welcome to the hellmouth

Spent Sunday afternoon in Sunnyvale, which as a consequence of watching far too much Buffy I keep pronouncing “Sunnyd – Sunnyvale”.

Christ, that place is a *goldmine*.

As we walked past Starbucks, I heard a woman say: “He could be stalking me – and I wouldn’t even know!”

In Pasta Pomodoro, the host came by to admire Claire.

“We have two of our own,” he said.

“I keep thinking she’s going to call Child Protection Services: ‘Help! My parents are rank amateurs!'” I said. “We only started talking about it a year ago, and here she is.”

“Same thing happened to us. We adopted both our boys, and the first one came seven months after we applied.”

“Oh, cool. Did you do an open adoption?”

Okay, dumb question, I know.

“No,” he said. “No, we didn’t. Our boys are both African American, and their mothers, their highest ambition in life was finishing High School. And we just didn’t want that whole, that worrying about a whole other family. I mean, if when our boys are old enough, they want contact, I’ll be fine with that, I’ll take them to Chicago, we’ll all do it together. But they came from a very… impoverished background, and I’m confident that when they see what we gave them, and compare it with the life they would have had otherwise, they’ll be glad.”


Me, weakly: “Well, congratulations. And good luck.”

“You too,” he said, and glided away.

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