I finally found my scale, packed at the bottom of winter clothes probably so I didn’t have to see it again for six months. For whatever reason, I stepped on the lying son of a biscuit. Oh dear Jeebus it’s bad news. Very bad, epic train wreck, make me go throw up the last two months of meals and possibly cut my thighs off bad news. I text a friend, tell her the tragic turn of events. She says, “It’s okay, we can do this. We’ll kick ass like we did when we were 24!”. “Okay”, I say, “right after I get off of the suicide prevention hot line and stop crying”. I need peace, quiet and some alone time to search my soul and possibly kick myself in the ass for letting this happen. Again. So I went grocery shopping. I realize most people would rather poke their eyes out with their own tongue and not grocery shop, but for whatever reason, I absolutely love it. I find the world’s best parking spot, right outside of the exit ,and bonus, in one of those fat parking spaces nestled between a curb and a cart return thingy. I skip out of my truck and walk to Starbuck’s. It’s not a long walk, but normally I would have hit the drive thru and then go park. Points are stacking up for me already! Yippee! I order my all time favorite low-calorie, no sugar, no dairy because it makes me have bad bathroom , icy cold coffee cup of fabulous! This is when I decide that Starbuck’s employees must get bonuses rated on a scale of 1 to Bitch Slap in regards to how badly they can annoy a customer with a craptastic storm of questions.
“What can I get started for you?”
“I would love a Venti Mocha Frapaccino Lite with soy, no whip and no sweetener.” See- I am pretty sure I just covered all of the information the need.
“Would you like the syrup added?”
“No thank you, no sugar. Please.”
“It tastes better with an extra pump of chocolate!”
WTF! Which part of lite are you missing. Do I LOOK like I need EXTRA chocolate? My g scale needs therapy from this mornings weigh in and you want to offer me more fat? Excellent, Mean Girl, now I will definitely need that suicide prevention line on speed dial. But Nice Cat says, with a smile, “No. No thank you. I would not like any sugar, syrup, chocolate or any extra other ass expanding ingredients added.”
Barista laughs, “Oh that is so funny!”. I am not laughing. I am about to cross over from Very Happy to Get a Special Iced Coffee Cat and become your worst nightmare AKA as Forget Suicide, I’d Rather Go To Jail For Punching You In The Head Cat. Now blend my coffee before an epic bitch battle breaks out here in your shiny hipster infested lobby. M’kay? It looks like my irritable, scrunchy eyebrow look has delivered the appropriate message, perhaps I will now get my coffee so I can go shopping and be happy.
“Did you want whipped cream? I always put extra!”