Yuppy goodness

So the woman I'm dating and I have this running joke about avoiding hellish yuppie chain restaurants like The Cheesecake Factory. (True story: at one intersection in Arlington, Virginia you can find, caddycorner to each other: a The Cheesecake Factory; a Pottery Barn; a Crate and Barrel; and a Whole Foods Market. Yes, of course there's a Starbucks next door. Every time I drive by I'm struck by this creepy impulse to buy a minivan, a cardigan sweater and a riding lawnmower.)

Anyway, I come home Sunday night from a long day of drinking, flying, drinking, football and more drinking, and what's waiting on my doorstep but a large styrofoam box from The Cheesecake Factory.

It's addressed to the girl who apparently used to live in my apartment. I get her mail all the time. There's a mailing slip, and so I open it. Inside the box, the slip says, is a 10-inch Oreo cheesecake. Courtesy of some company that I presume the girl work(ed?)s for.

What to do. I could have, I suppose, written "Return to Sender" on the top of the box and lugged it down to the post office this morning. But for one, I'm just not that nice. For another, I love cheesecake. For yet another, I was pretty drunk.

So as it turns out, there are two morals to this tale. One, this is some goddamn good cheesecake.
And two, always send in that change-of-address form. I'm talking to you, Andree Louapre, wherever you are.