The girlfriend and I had brunch at Gigi’s Cafe the other day and I had what one might describe as an epiphany. Gigi’s is a quaint little establishment that caters predominantly to those who are on the wrong side of thirty plus the occasional migrant hipster. Not exactly an eclectic clientèle but one that nonetheless manages to habitually visit on an almost daily basis.

On this morning we lucked out in that we somehow managed to avoid both the breakfast and brunch rushes allowing us to walk straight up to the counter and immediately order. Our server was a surprisingly tall, cute Asian woman whose nationality was difficult to discern. This afforded my girlfriend of launching into her thesis on how impossibly cute Asian children are. But while the girls are forever in bloom the boys ripen rather early and rarely retain their cuteness after puberty.

Now she repeats this lecture nearly every time we encounter a cute Asian child, clearly alluding to the fact that she would love to adopt one. But I also know she is incapable of controlling her urges, and what would start out as her wanting to help a poor abandoned orphan would quickly morph her into the Angelina Jolie of East Asia, picking out one from every country to add to her collection. This in turn would usher in the day that I come home from work to find her children hermetically sealed so that she might eternally preserve their cuteness … what a legal nightmare that will be.

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