This morning, with $12 to my name (yes, you read that correctly), I headed over to my beloved Starbucks to spend a solid third of that money. Not for the high-priced caffeine jolt, mind you...but to see my guy:) MY barista. (yes, I feel that I own him.)
I was furious when I had gone in yesterday and he wasn't there. But damn it, today is a new day, and I'm a persistent girl. I'm a risk taker. I'm like Lara Croft-meets-Glenn Close-in-Fatal Attraction. But much cuter.
Where was I?
Oh right, in line at Starbucks, stepping up to the counter...3 employees crammed into that tiny space behind the register, surely one must be MY guy!
Nope, no luck. Damn it!
"Can I get an iced grande coffee in a venti cup?" (I like a little room to stretch out.) And then, just as I'm getting over my loss with the promise of impending coffee, AS IF THE COFFEE HEAVENS PARTED FROM BEHIND THE PASTRY CASE...there was my sweetie.
"Hey Rach!" (I melted.)
He takes the cup and says, "I got this." (Yeah ya do.) And he makes my drink. We chatted about coffee and the possibility of my running a marathon (not much time for smooth conversational transitions in the time it takes to make an iced coffee.) I could've stayed for hours. But that probably would've gotten him fired. And then, how would our kids get health care?
OK, maybe I'm leaning more towards Glenn Close than Lara Croft.
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