So for the last week, Starbucks Guy was missing in action.
Every morning, I’d go through to get my Venti Caffe Mocha with a shot of Vanilla syrup and would be met by Surly Girl or Viggo. No cute perky Starbucks Guy.
Bereft and confused, I cried on Chauffi’s shoulder via email. He suggested ‘Perhaps he was in a car accident, and was trapped in his car, with only the thought of you and your tunes keeping him alive.’ Oh, if only I could be so lucky.
I gave him one more chance, because maybe he was working the night shift? I drove through last night, with Pearl Jam’s unplugged ‘Black’ thundering out of my speakers.
‘Hey there, how can I help you?’ A deep flirty voice over the loudspeaker.
I wasn’t about to be fooled. Viggo had fooled me once before.
‘Hi, I’d like a Venti Chai Latte please.’
Suddenly, a linebackeresque Docker’s-clad figure raced out the door and said, ‘Well you can’t have it!’ and jumped in front of my car.
I laughed uproariously and he chuckled and said ‘Oh, it’s Chai now is it?’ I could see him making a mental note that when it’s dark out, I prefer Chai. ‘Pull on up!’ And then he ran back inside.
Never before in my life have I been more glad to be wearing lipstick.
I pulled up and watched as he took the Chai from the underling who made it and then personally handed it to me. Then he said, ‘This is for putting up with me all the time.’ And then he handed me a coupon for a free Venti drink.
(Weetabix sings a little song and does a curvy married lady dance)
Starbucks Guy lurves me. Starbucks Guy thinks I’m purty. Starbucks Guy gives me free COFFFFFFEEEE!!!!
Anywhoo, I’m glad that he wasn’t lying trapped in a car somewhere. He just had to work the afternoon shift. Which might have been just as bad. You never know.
And of course I know that I’m married. And I’d never forsake my sugar daddy Esteban for the cute, most likely 23-year-old, Starbucks Guy. It’s just nice to have a cute guy all flirty and such.
I’m going to be like one of those 40-year-old mom’s who show up at their kid’s football games in low cut blouses and insist on kissing all the football players on the lips. With tongue. I just know it.
So the Quiz has been a hit so far. I’ve been brainstorming some awesome prizes. Apparently, though, the questions were a little hard. My own sister, Mo, who is kind of dumb and didn’t use her pseudonym like a good MoFo, even got one wrong (the name of my cats), and she’s known me all of her life. The funniest part of having that quiz is the fact that my page received numerous hits from people who were obviously scouring for the answers.
Bwahahaha! That made me laugh out loud.
I would say ‘lol’ but that’s just too dorky for words.
I have to work late tonight, which isn’t really a problem because for the past 10 days I’ve essentially been a work widow. Esteban’s working hot and heavy on a nude hooker, and by ‘nude hooker’ I mean a big project at work. It’s surreal because he comes to bed after I’m already asleep and then I leave for work while he’s still sleeping. It’s like living with a ghost who gropes me in my sleep and leaves a lot of dirty laundry.
I was sort of bummed about working late because I had really wanted to see the new movie Rollerball tonight, but then I remembered that I wasn’t dead and in purgatory, so it’s all good.