With Utnu's diseased brain, I had missed a whole day at Second Cup, neglecting my coffee people (very uncouth). This morning I came in Utnu-less, but determined to get some quality coffee and letter writing time.
I asked D. what he wanted today, and he said a coffee. I told him it was Irish Cream day and he seemed pleased to hear that.
I merrily strolled in, and my coffee people threw their hands up in joy (one day missed is very rare for me. I am a coffee-addict). I felt like the prodigal son (except instead of being a moocher, their business depended on me. I’d be happy to see me too if my RRSPs and children’s education funds depended almost exclusively on my caffeine guzzling habit, but I digress. I digress a lot, apparently.)
I walk up to the counter, grin widely, and ask for two medium Irish Creams.
I look down.
Eyes grow wide.
“Oh, it’s French Vanilla today?”
“Miss …”
Oh no! I won’t be Miss’d today! I beat him to the punch.
“But it’s Tuesday!”
“Miss…”
Start panicking and remembering week (remember, it was a long week. The end of an era, in fact!)
“No, wait, it’s Thursday!”
“Miss …”
“No! Wednesday! It IS French Vanilla Day!”
Second Cup guy throws hands up as if in deliverance and shouts: “Thank you!”
I was then scolded for not coming in yesterday, as I was obviously losing track of time without their carefully crafted time-keeping system. If I came every day again, they informed me, I would once again grasp and be soothed by it.
I have my doubts.
But it’s nice to be missed.
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