English well speached here.

About a month ago, my wife, two year old son and I went for a trip to the big city of Boston. I know by “big city” standards, Boston hardly rates, but for us it’s the BIG CITY. We tend to be quiet, country-type folk but every once in a while we need our cityfix and we head for Beantown. To us, it’s just the right size. Big enough to have some really cool things to do yet small enough to get around in easily. Most rides on the T (public transport) are 5 to 10 minute affairs and we’ve gotten to the point where we know our way around fairly well.

The other big draw for us is that we can take the commuter rail right into the city and it drops us exactly one stop on the subway away from our hotel. Driving to Boston is actually faster than taking the train and since I tend be like Luke Skywalker in the Death Star trench when I’m behind the wheel, I never minded tackling the dreaded Boston drivers. I actually find it kind of fun. My wife, who for the record, drives just as crazily as I do, has decided that the train is the way to go and having tried it, I have to agree with her. The primary reason for this is our two year old son, who I refer to as Short Stack. The train gives him a chance to move around and play with his beloved toy trucks and gives us the chance to drink overpriced beer and eat overpriced chicken salad, all while bumping along at 60 mph, enjoying the view of the back sides of department stores and warehouses. Honestly, I really liked it.

We stay at the same place every time we go. It’s one of those secret gems that’s tucked away and is nearly invisible to the average fanny pack wearer and to make it extra sweet, it’s inexpensive too. The best reason to go there though is that it’s right in the middle of the North End. That means Little Italy. THAT means, pastry. As Short Stack would say, “yummy, yummy pastry.” So, while Mom relaxed in the room and got us unpacked, Short Stack and I ambled over to the pastry shop. Again, we have our favorite and avoid the sugar coated vortex that is Mike’s Pastry. We passed Mike’s and the amoeba like crowd squirting through the doors and proceeded on to our smaller, lesser known shop. As we walk along, I listen to locals talking to each other in Italian and smile, I love this place! Once we make it inside our chosen pastry shop, I noticed that they did some remodeling. I also notice the signs that were put up warning would-be thieves about the security cameras. The signs made it nearly impossible for me to order my cannoli with a straight face.

It’s amazing how by changing one word slightly it can change not only the meaning but the entire intent of a sentence. So what was the premiss? I know they meant premises, but I like this message much better. It makes a simple warning sign into a mini philosophy class. Some day, Short Stack will be old enough for me to point stuff like this out to him. He can then roll his eyes and remark about how weird I am and put on his best tortured teenage look. In the mean time though, he’s content to get roughly 65% of his ricotta cannoli in his mouth at once and the remaining 35% in his hair. I wonder if the shop owners would let me use their bathroom to clean him up… on premiss.

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