Happy in a Cup
Yes, I know. I should just move here already.
I'm trying, alright. Back off me.
Anyway, I have to tell you, Internet, what happened this morning.
First, you need a little back story...Last night, Lyra and I were talking about things that make us happy. (look for a future post)
Not hugely expensive happy things. Just small insignificants that make us smile, feel all warm inside or depending on the day, talk me down from the ledge.
Well, a couple of things came rushing to mind. But one came first.
And what is at the peak of my happiness you ask? 7 marvelous words.
Venti Iced Caramel Macchiato (nonfat, sugar-free)
Starbucks coffee my friends. And it is "happy" in a cup.
So because my friends love me (and love Starbucks as well- no matter what Jared says about them being capitalist bastards), The Lees and I stopped at Starbucks this morning on the way to church.
I sighed a little inside about the outcome of my Battlestar Gallactica/ Starbucks name origin quandary...yet ordered in bliss.
I paid, grabbed my cup, began to swirl the silky colors until they mixed, took that first heavenly sip and placed it securely in the cup holder and finished putting on my makeup in the back seat of the van.
Well, we were running late. So when we got to church, I steadied my venti cup on the floor, grabbed my purse, stuffed my journal and Bible inside and crawled out of the minivan.
And that is when I was stabbed. Straight through the heart.
I accidentally grazed the green straw and my liquid pleasure was sent tumbling out of the van and proceeded to spew all over the Heritage PCA parking lot.
Wide-eyed in horror, I opened my mouth for a hefty obscenity and realized 1) there were children with me and 2) shouting the f*word in the church parking lot is just in bad taste.
So I took a breath. My eyes started to water.
So help me God, I considered stretching out and sucking my love off the cold, clean pavement. But I had a white shirt on. I had to watch my liquid joy disappear.
I don't know if I'll ever view the church parking lot the same. I do know that recounting this story, even after 8 hours, makes me not so much want to dash out to the nearest Starbucks, but jet back to the church and see if the caramel is still glistening on the pavement.
Something is seriously wrong with me.
Maybe Starbucks IS the man. Maybe they're like KFC with their addictive chemicals.
Oh right, that's caffeine.
Whatever. My apathy wins that war and I side with a 4 dollar cup of coffee every time. After all, it's my happy in a cup.
Even though now, at this very moment, it rests in peace in the Heritage parking lot.