While out today I ran a quick errand and found myself at Starbucks, buying a mocha for TheBoy. The one up the street has my absolute favorite barista. Once, knowing that one of the cups TheBoy was ordering was for me, he wrote [TheBoy’s name]-isha on the cup.
He asked my name (it’s been awhile since I’ve been there) and the girl making it misheard. “Brittany?”
“Whitney,” he corrected. “Like Houston, sweetie.” He looked at me. “Sorry about that.”
“Eh, I answer to it. If it ends in -itney, I’ll answer.”
“But what about Whitley? Honey, she was fierce.”
“I LOVED that show,” I said. “And yeah, I answered to that.”
“Who else knows Whitley?” He glanced at the two early 20s female baristas. “Either of you? Oh, I’m old.”
“Oh,” I pouted. “That means I’m old, too.”
“But honey,” he said with a smile. “That means we just look fabulous.”
As I got my drink and headed out the door, he said goodbye and told me to drop back soon since he couldn’t wait to see what I was doing with my hair next.
Gotta say, not a bad way to kick off my morning.