What is the first issue you contemplate when waking up in the morning? For me, it is the number of minutes until I am reunited with my favorite beverage: the Starbucks venti latte. And until today I was content living the venti lifestyle.
But then the unthinkable happened. I was skyped by my two exes, currently dating each other. They are in the midst of a long distance relationship, and as most serial daters can attest to, distance creates inevitable tension and anxiety.
However, unlike most situations involving previous liaisons, one usually does not seek relationship advice from a former romantic interest. Unless you are me, in which case exceptions to the rule seem to be abound. As a result of my exceptional status, I am continuously consulted as A and J navigate the somewhat treacherous course of being oceans apart.
And while today is far from the first time the two have consulted me on matters of the heart, I was ill-prepared for their 6:30 AM melodrama. I therefore determined to do what any self-respecting caffeine addict would do– get a cup of coffee first.
As I frolicked down Central Ave towards my local Starbucks, I took comfort in knowing that everything would somehow become slightly more manageable once reunited with my homemade venti. Upon entering Starbucks, this was quickly confirmed as Portia, perhaps my favorite barista of all time, cried, “Have I got a surprise for you, Yaffa!”
Before I had even taken my magical Starbucks card out of my wallet, I was greeted by the trenta– 31 oz of caffeinated goodness. As a loyal frequenter of the fine establishment, I had merited a free experimental drink. And like any girl with two melodramatic gay boys to contend with, I happily accepted the trenta.
Needless to say I was walking on sunshine. In fact, nearly six hours later I suspect I still am. I found myself singing Frank Sinatra’s 1946 mega-hit “The Coffee Song” the entire walk back to campus. Even the pigeons, my Audubon arch nemeses, seemed to be chirping along.
As the Gentile Giant later described it, it was as if I were a character in Peter Pan, and Portia, my barista, was screaming, “You can fly! You can fly!” And fly I just did. When finally engaging the two boys in question, I was on a high. Nothing, not even their reminder of my failed gaydar, could bring me down.
I advised them to strongly consider the long-term possibility of monogamy. If they were not 100% truly committed, then they needed to be honest with each other. Breaking up– though not ideal for two serial daters such as themselves– was better than mopping about in a never ending melancholic state.
And, I added, there were other cups of coffee in the grind. If A was not J’s ideal blend, it was time he experimented with another. There were plenty of coffees yet to be savored.