There exists a skit of high school students who sing about what they'd be if they were not, in fact, a student. The first one, who would be a farmer, gives her impression of farm life with the chant "Give Bessy, give! The baby's gotta live!"
Speaking of milk...
I do my part for Bessy's baby by drinking lattes or cappuccinos. Alas, my dentist has warned me to stay away from tea and coffee for a bit. Apparently with the stuff she's doing, the same cozy sheen of my cappuccino would chemically bond to my teeth. So steamers it is. I've discovered, however, that this is the unregulated drink. Each time you get one you need to specify everything from flavor to milk type to whip cream possibilities. I cringe to think of myself as the person who orders coffee with 20 disclaimers, but it's okay because I don't really care if it's the wrong kind of milk, or they add whip without realizing or whatever. I just don't want to be like one eighth pump mocha lady...
You've heard the story-- a woman who orders her coffee like she's directing a war. This particular woman came into my coffee shop every day she and ordered the same thing: a grande latte with, among other things, an eighth pump of mocha. One eighth, nor more than an eighth, so help you God. The first time I really noticed her was when she tasted her coffee, groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. We all paused just for a moment and exchanged a glance. Her head on our counter, she berated us sideways for getting the drink wrong. So we made it again. And quite possibly again. She kept coming back, which I don't understand since it always took an age to make her happy. We tried, but it was a rare day that we didn't get a complaint and she didn't get an instant replay. With women like her in the world, though, no dairy farmer should ever be in want.
Speaking of milk...
I do my part for Bessy's baby by drinking lattes or cappuccinos. Alas, my dentist has warned me to stay away from tea and coffee for a bit. Apparently with the stuff she's doing, the same cozy sheen of my cappuccino would chemically bond to my teeth. So steamers it is. I've discovered, however, that this is the unregulated drink. Each time you get one you need to specify everything from flavor to milk type to whip cream possibilities. I cringe to think of myself as the person who orders coffee with 20 disclaimers, but it's okay because I don't really care if it's the wrong kind of milk, or they add whip without realizing or whatever. I just don't want to be like one eighth pump mocha lady...
You've heard the story-- a woman who orders her coffee like she's directing a war. This particular woman came into my coffee shop every day she and ordered the same thing: a grande latte with, among other things, an eighth pump of mocha. One eighth, nor more than an eighth, so help you God. The first time I really noticed her was when she tasted her coffee, groaned and dropped her head onto the counter. We all paused just for a moment and exchanged a glance. Her head on our counter, she berated us sideways for getting the drink wrong. So we made it again. And quite possibly again. She kept coming back, which I don't understand since it always took an age to make her happy. We tried, but it was a rare day that we didn't get a complaint and she didn't get an instant replay. With women like her in the world, though, no dairy farmer should ever be in want.
Ha!
ReplyDeletethink of what it would be like to be that lady's kid.