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Croquembouche

We made our way down the street to the tiny French dessert shop, Petit Gateau, and I didn't know what our things was tonight with foreign restaurants, but this was our second one tonight.

We walked in, and the little bell on the door chimed to announce our arrival. A little white-blond haired old lady came out of the back and to our table.

I was prepared to try to sign language communicate with her, because she didn't look like she could see or hear too well. But, when she spoke, it was loud, and clear, and kind of intimidating.

"What vill you have, zen?" she asked with an accent, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'll have some macaroons," Riley said

"And some Creme Brulee," I continued

"-And some crepes,"

"-And some chocolate mousse,"

"-And some Croquembouche"

"-And some Rum baba,"

"-And some eclairs,"

"-And some Palmier,"

And Riley and I went back and forth, naming as many French desserts as we could think of, until we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. Even the little old waitress cracked a smile.

"Here on special occasion?" She asked.

I nodded, "Bachelorette party," I said.

She rubbed her chin, "Shouldn't the hen party have- m- don't know... strippers, and dancing, and alcohol?" she said, dancing around the shop.

We started laughing again, "We just wanted a quiet night of food and shopping. Nothing special," Riley explained.

The woman nodded thoughtfully, "How about this? I give you a leetle bit of everysing- on the house," she said.

"No, we couldn't possibly!" Riley said.

The woman waved her hand, "My shop is more popular than you think. I have plenty of money. I insist," she patted Riley's face, "Congratulation on your wedding, my dear. I hope you have chosen somevone good."

A few minutes later, the woman had stacked small plates of all of the French pastries and desserts we could think of. The woman came back from the back room and leaned against the counter, rubbing her eyes.

"Come sit with us!" Riley called.

"No, no, I do not intrude on girls' night," the lady said, waving her hand at us.

"We insist," Riley and I said at the same time. The woman smiled at us.

"Well, when you use the telepathy on me, I cannot zay no," she shrugged and sat down at our table.

"Wedding were zo much fun to go too, back in the day," she said looking reminiscently into the distance, "When I was your age, I attract all ze big, strong man."

Riley laughed.

"You know, I would love to have you at my wedding," Riley said, "You've been to kind so kind to us. I can mail an invitation to your shop," Riley gestured around.

"I vould love to, dear," the lady said.

Riley smiled broadly, "Great! What name should I put on the invitation?" she asked.

"Svorski," the lady replied, "Mrs. Svorski."

We left the shop a few minutes later, stuffed with French dessert, Riley clutching a piece of paper with Mrs. Svorski's name and address on it.

Now, we go shopping.