“‘Whiffy?’” I repeat, squinting my right eye at him while my nostrils waver, checking if this is some new scent I should inhale. Maybe I’ll like this secret scent and order one of those, too.

“Yes. See? It looks like it says it’s on a hot dot.”

Now I’m really puzzled, and I look askance toward the direction of his forehead nod. The hubby has apparently been reading a sign backwards, as it is pasted on the outside of the window.

I do indeed see a large dot with an arrow, but I’m sure it has nothing to do with heat. “You don’t mean ‘hot spot‘, do you?” Not that it matters to him by now. He’s drooling over the Dagwood-style sandwiches freshly delivered to our table.

“Mmm-hmmm,” he mumbles, taking a bite. “Hot splot. Must be a new promotion.”

I wonder if I should tell him his ‘wiffy hot dot’ is actually a ‘wi-fi hot spot’, meant for computer laptops.

Nah, maybe later. I’ll chalk it up to low blood sugar for now.