First, mommy should under no circumstances fill a brightly colored cup with whipped cream, sugar, carmel, mocha, and coffee, drink about two-thirds of it, and then leave it within climbing distance. Second, you never, ever, ever want to be anywhere near a toddler that has drunk a third of a cup of coffee. Ever. Third, coffee is a fairly effective diarrhetic.
The cost of a venti/bold red-eye at the Hilton Starbucks (with half and half and three sweet and lows)? Priceless. The look of the workers and hundreds of clients (or 20) of said Starbucks as I went screaming out of the establishment? Priceless. How I looked running at the Speed of Light with coffee flying everywhere and screaming as I crossed the street on a RED LIGHT?? Priceless. The look on face of the driver of the tow-truck that was hooking up my car in the no-parking zone of the bank across the street of the Starbucks as I CRIED and CRIED??? Priceless. The looks on the faces of the rich people from the HILTON patio who were watching in somewhat embarrassed amusement? Priceless. The cost of NOT having him tow my car? $25.00. CASH. (He was a cold hearted bastard.)
You know you're broke when you skip the Peppermint Latte at Starbucks because you don't want to pay the extra 60 cents, instead, you still get a latte—you just chew up your Dentyne Ice gum and stick it in the cup.
I'm angry that coffee doesn't taste like it smells. According to my understanding of the way the world works, having conducted extensive studies using instant lemonade powder, nestle quik, and cake mix, eating a spoonful of coffee grounds should be the absolute most delicious thing available on our planet. But no.
Dear Mom, You know the window I broke while you all were in Disney World and I was watching the house just after I got back from my freshman year of college? Well it wasn't a broom that broke it when I was cleaning. It was my friend's head when she drank too much of the punch.
People think I'm drunk even when I'm dead sober because I'm filterless and stupid and fall a lot and so I basically have what I call "the three-drink handicap". Everyone else in the world after 3 cocktails = me just waking up.
When I was 17, my dad took me to the Hofbrau House in Munich. He bought me a laughably gigantic mug of beer (which I pretended was my first). "Son," he said to me. "But Dad, I'm a girl." He replied, "Just humor me for a few minutes."
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