Last week I went to dinner wearing one of those balloon sleeve tops that makes petite girls look like Jean Shrimpton and me look like I’m a pig that has been let loose in a fruit basket wrapping station. I was into it. Within seconds of sitting down, my friend Steve barked “Cuban Pete!” at me. The two other people at the table chimed in. “Oh my god, it’s Cuban Pete.” After a brief moment of confusion, I suddenly remembered what they were talking about. It all came flooding back with perfect clarity.
Not sure what I love more here: the ‘what else would your dad say when you and your sibling enter a room’ quip or the Princess Beatrice dig