Sitting in my car, twisted around all cattywompus, with my laptop perched half on my lap and half on my arm rest while the rain pours outside. The hotness of my breath and the steam from my venti drip — half hot water with room for extra cream, please — makes the air uncomfortable for me to breathe. I WOULD be sitting IN that Starbucks enjoying the free ventilation and wi-fi, but every stinking seat was taken by some punk kid trying to look cool by sitting around drinking grownup coffee and TAKING UP SPACE. Granted, if those cool-looking punks hadn’t beat me in the door, I’D be the one sitting there taking up space, but that’s beside the point. I’m aggravated.
Every Tuesday, Emma Kelly has art class for one hour. I had it all planned out how I was going to take my laptop into Starbucks and sit there sipping coffee and clicking away on my keyboard like I meant serious business. And if a handsome single father just so happened to wander in because he, too, was waiting for a child from that same art class or the music school next door, well! Wouldn’t that just be the perfect start for a romantic comedy starring ME?? But I had to go and pick the Starbucks where all these over-scheduled punk kids who just finished their music and art classes gather and amuse themselves by burping caffeine in each other’s faces until mom realizes what time it is, kicks the pool boy out of the minivan and pulls up in a panic while the flush of lust still lingers on her cheeks. At least, that’s the episode of “Desperate Housewives” that plays out in my head.
I need to read a romance novel. Or write one. But I’d be too embarrassed. How does that 50 Shades of Grey person walk around with people knowing her brain works like that??
I just need to get to that danged Starbucks earlier next week.