Inspiration strikes you in the most uncommon ways sometimes. Sitting poised at my keyboard, ready to launch into a witty and compelling missive, I spill my Latte into my lap.
Now, it being summer (or what we call summer around here) I am wearing shorts. My legs are now covered in warm milky coffee. My ass is sticking to the chair, and I smell like Colombia's finest espresso roast.
What bothers me most about this episode is not having to clean up the floor, or my chair or even my shorts (the missus, God bless her, takes care of things in the laundry department). It's the remorseful feeling I have for losing my coffee.
My morning Latte is a ritual each day. I take a trip to the Smalltown Coffee Shop, gossip with the owner and patrons, a short trip home and then settle in for a day of hard, hard work. Losing my Latte throws me completely off balance. I don't know if I can carry on.
No comments:
Post a Comment