There are good reasons for wanting your bamboo to spread

I have a hot coffee customer. His name is Wallace, which was his mother's maiden name, I learned, in one of our few very short exchanges. He is tall and 30ish, wears Nikes with no socks, rides a bike to the store and always brings his laptop. When I first saw him, I could talk to him lightly, but then someone told him he had a "secret admirer." He said, "Who, the brunette?" Now I can hardly look at him without turning red and awkward. I scurry when I mean to walk confidently. The other day I told him not to order a toffee almond bar because they don't get thrown out as often as they should. "Well, what would you recommend?" he asked. Me, "Um, the muffins and uh, I guess just the muffins..." He asked my name: "Me? Oh, I'm Jessica." Today a cup flew out of my hand when he appeared at the counter. No good, I tell you, no good will come of this.

Pink was last season

Vicki, I can't make the pink titles go away. Maybe you can do something with it.

Just b&w, which is what my sister and I wore on Xmas Eve. She brought her electronic Sudoku game thing to church services, and hid it from my parents on one side of her body. We sang all the songs in our highest soprano voices. Usually we spend the rest of service checking out some specific boys, but none of them really come around anymore. Until the end, when we were leaving, we passed one guy my sister has loved for probably ten years. You know, my sister is one of those girls with fancy sunglasses who doesn't scare easily, but she turns bright red for this one. He has kind of a beard and a great wool coat--more my type than hers.