I’ve been known to stick my foot in my mouth the odd time, and without much social interaction over the past year I was due to say something really stupid now that things are opening up. So earlier tonight I walked into a Starbucks about five minutes before closing time and patiently observed the barista while I waited in line. He was about my age and just as follicly challenged, although he did his best to hide it. I knew they’d be out of pre-brewed dark roast at that late hour so when it came time to order I asked, “Can you make a comb-over? Pour over. I mean pour over.” The damage was done. It’s hard to walk that one back.