The barista asks me if I want a pain au chocolat: "So you don't look predictable." (A lot of mornings, I arrive at the counter and the pastry is sitting there on a plate, because they saw me coming.)
"Well, getting consent is always a good idea," I tell her. She's laughing so much, that she forgets to get the chocolate croissant and hand it to me, even though I've paid, and is momentarily confused to see me still standing there.
"You had my consent and everything!" I declare in mock indignation.
I get mock-indignant so often, that I think real indignation would go unrecognised.
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