In Which I Become Old and Cranky


Every morning I drive Ben to school and we stop at a little coffee shop for drinks and treats. Ben always has four shots of espresso over ice. What I get varies depending upon my mood.

This morning, I ordered an iced decaf non-fat vanilla latté. I call it “That Sissy Drink.” I am not entirely oblivious.

When my order came up and they called it out, a customer standing at the counter said, to no one in particular, “What is this, Starbucks?”

Maybe he meant it for me, because of course I was up there picking up my drink. To no one in particular: “What is this, Sanctimonious Prig Gives A Lecture Cafe?”

You would think that would be enough, but no. “I’m pretty sure I can order whatever I like, if it’s on the menu. I’m not asking for a pony and a wizard, though I’d like both.”

Nothing. Not even eye contact.

As we were leaving, I kept on muttering to myself, fuming at this (to me) smug fuck, who probably just meant to make a little joke for no one’s ears but his own. “…stupid jerk loves the sound of his own voice… next he’ll be telling me how to vote…”

What’s happened to me?

— photo unrelated —

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