The only living girl in New York

Sometimes I wish I was a life-sized latte. It’s true. I strive to find a warm balance between a sharp dose of espresso and a mild tempering of milk. And worse yet, I dream of propagating my caffeine love. In the few freaky pregnant dreams I’ve had, I’ve given to birth to grande skinny vanilla lattes and venti white mochas. I credit this fantastical leap of logic to my current job situation, which is to say the balancing of two jobs that each require more hours than there are in the day. And I suspect that these fantasies shall persist for the next two months, as I struggle to be the Wendy Wellesley I always knew I would be.


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