Speaking of Seduction

So every afternoon ’round about 4 in the P.M., I get a fuggin’ serious coffee jones on account of spending a whole day masterminding shit and IM’ing with friends and taking coffee breaks. There’s this one place I like to go get my fix. They have all the finest aged java micro-brews and sweetener packets you’ll ever need. But on top of that, there’s this one barista who I like to mindbang. This isn’t some meaningless hot sex ogling either — I can tell from how she wears sweaters that show off the space between her tatties that she and I would get along on a real deeplike level. Romio, oh, Romio. Wherefore art thou? Right here baby, ordering a non-fat, no-foam sugar and spice latte with two Equals.

Anyway, in the hundred or so times I’ve ordered coffee from this girl, she ain’t so much as winked and made a beejer motion at ol’ Uncle Talvid . . . until today.

I do my usual stripper two-step up the counter to place my order. I notice my Barista beloved is batting her baby blues at me. She opens her mouth to speak:
Her: “I like your t-shirt. Who is that?”
Me: “Uuuhhh. Uh, hisnameishtoddrundgren.”
Her: “Sorry, Tad Runcheon?”
Me: “Todd Rundgren.”
Her: “It’s cool. I wouldn’t have thought to wear it with a cardigan, but I like it.”

Then I grimaced, paid, and left.

Life is good.

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