A milkshake is plopped down in front of me just as I decide to skedaddle. How can I possibly enjoy this guilty pleasure when my boss, the head of the English Department, the man I’ve crushed on for ten years, is sitting at the diner counter like a solitary cowboy with his gun (well in this case his silver pen) cocked and ready for battle? (click here to see Part I, Diner Dilemma) Continue reading
